TO   LEEWARD 


BY 


F.  MARION  CRAWFORD 

n 
AUTHOR  OF  "MR.  ISAACS,"  "DR.  CLAUDIUS,"  "A  ROMAN  SINGER" 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 
New  York  :  11    East  Seventeenth  Street 


1884 


Copyright,  1883, 
BY  F.  MARION  CRAWFORD 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge: 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


TO 

MY  UNCLE, 
SAMUEL   WARD, 

OP  NEW  TORE, 

s  Nobel  is  affectionatels 


M11988 


TO  LEEWARD. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THEKE  are  two  Romes.  There  is  the  Rome  of 
the  intelligent  foreigner,  consisting  of  excavations, 
monuments,  tramways,  hotels,  typhoid  fever,  in 
cense,  and  wax  candles ;  and  there  is  the  Rome 
within,  a  city  of  antique  customs,  good  and  bad,  a 
town  full  of  aristocratic  prejudices,  of  intrigues,  of 
religion,  of  old-fashioned  honor  and  new-fashioned 
scandal,  of  happiness  and  unhappiness,  of  just  peo 
ple  and  unjust.  Besides  all  this,  there  is  a  very 
modern  court  and  a  government  of  the  future, 
which  may  almost  be  said  to  make  up  together  a 
third  city. 

Moreover,  these  several  coexistent  cities,  and 
their  corresponding  inhabitants,  are  subdivided  to 
an  infinity  of  gradations,  in  order  to  contain  all 
and  make  room  for  all.  The  foreigner  who  hunts 
excavations  does  not  cross  the  path  of  the  foreigner 
who  sniffs  after  incense,  any  more  than  the  prime 
val  aristocrat  sits  down  to  dinner  with  the  repre 
sentative  of  fashionable  scandal;  anymore  than  the 


6  TO  LEEWARD. 

just  man  would  ever  allow  the  unjust  to  be  pre 
sented  to  him.  They  all  enjoy  so  thoroughly  the 
freedom  to  ignore  each  other  that  they  would  not 
for  worlds  endanger  the  safety  of  the  barrier  that 
separates  them.  Of  course,  as  they  all  say,  this 
state  of  things  cannot  last.  There  must  ultimately 
be  an  amalgamation,  a  deluge,  a  unity,  fraternity, 
and  equality ;  a  state  of  things  in  which  we  shall 
say,  "  Sois  mon  frere,  ou  je  te  tue"  -  -  a  future 
glorious,  disgusting,  or  dull,  according  as  you  look 
at  it.  But,  meanwhile,  it  is  all  very  charming,  and 
there  is  plenty  for  every  one  to  enjoy,  and  an 
abundance  for  every  one  to  abuse. 

When  Marcantonio  Cararitoni  saw  his  sister  mar 
ried  to  a  Frenchman  years  ago-,  he  was  exceedingly 
glad  that  she  had  not  married  an  Englishman,  a 
Turk,  a  Jew,  or  an  infidel.     The  Vicomte  de  Char- 
leroi  was,  and  is,  a  gentleman ;  rather  easy-going, 
perhaps,  and  inclined  to  look  upon  republics  in  gen 
eral,  and  the  French  republic  in  particular,  with  the 
lenient  eye  of  the  man  who  owns  land  and  desires 
peace  first  —  and  a  monarchy  afterwards,  whenever 
convenient.     But  in  these  days  it  is  not  altogether 
worthy  of  blame  that  a  man  should  look  after  his 
worldly  interests  and  goods  ;  for  how  else  can  the 
aristocracy  expect  to  make  any  headway  against 
the  stream  of  grimy  bourgeois,  who  sell  everything 
at  a  profit,  while  the  nobles  buy  everything  a 
loss  ?    So  Marcantonio  is  satisfied  with  his  brother- 
in-law,  and  just  now  is  particularly  delighted  be 
cause  Charleroi  has  got  himself  appointed  to  a  post 


TO  LEEWARD. 


in  Home ;  and  he  goes  to  see  his  sister  every  day, 
for  he  is  very  fond  of  her. 

In  truth,  it  is  not  surprising  that  Marcantonio 
should  like  his  sister,  for  she  is  a  very  charming 
woman.  She  is  beautiful,  too,  in  a  grand  way, 
with  her  auburn  hair,  and  gray  eyes,  and  fair  skin ; 
but  no  one  can  help  feeling  that  she  might  be  quite 
as  beautiful,  and  yet  be  anything  but  charming  ; 
so  many  beautiful  people  are  vain,  or  shy,  or  utterly 
idiotic.  Madame  de  Charleroi  is  something  of  a 
paragon,  and  has  as  many  enemies  as  most  para 
gons  have,  but  they  can  find  nothing  to  feed  their 
envy.  She  was  very  unhappy  years  ago,  but  time 
has  closed  the  wounds,  or  has  hidden  them  from 
sight,  and  her  dearest  friends  can  only  say  that  she 
was  cold  and  showed  very  little  heart.  When  the 
world  says  that  a  woman  is  a  piece  of  ice,  you  may 
generally  be  sure  that  she  is  both  beautiful  and 
good,  so  that  they  can  find  nothing  worse  to  say. 
Marcantonio  Carantoni's  sister  is  a  paragon,  and 
there  are  only  two  things  to  be  said  against  her,  — 
she  did  not  marry  Charleroi  for  love,  and  she  has 
not  done  half  the  things  in  the  world  that  she  might 
have  done. 

On  the  January  afternoon  which  marks  the  open 
ing  of  this  story,  the  brother  and  sister  sat  together 
in  a  small  boudoir  in  the  Carantoni  palace  ;  there 
was  room  for  all  in  the  great  house,  and  as  Marc 
antonio  was  not  married,  it  was  natural  that  his 
sister  and  her  husband,  with  their  children,  gov. 
ernesses,  servants,  and  horses  should  occupy  the 


8  TO  LEEWARD. 

untenanted  part  of  the  ancestral  mansion.  Up  in 
the  second  story  there  is  a  room  such  as  you  would 
not  expect  to  find  within  those  gray  and  ancient 
walls,  where  the  lower  windows  are  heavily  grated, 
and  huge  stone  coats  of  arms  glare  down  forbid 
dingly  from  above.  It  is  a  room  all  sun  and 
flowers  and  modern  furniture,  though  not  of  the 
more  hideous  type  of  newness,  —  modern  in  the 
sense  of  comfortable,  well  padded  and  airy.  At 
the  time  I  speak  of,  the  afternoon  sun  was  pour 
ing  in  through  the  closed  windows,  and  there  was 
a  small  wood  fire  in  the  narrow  fireplace.  The 
Vicomtesse  de  Charleroi  sat  warming  her  toes,  and 
her  brother  was  rolling  a  cigarette  as  he  looked  at 
her.  A  short  silence  had  succeeded  a  somewhat 
animated  discussion.  She  looked  at  the  fire,  and 
he  looked  at  her. 

"  My  dear  Diana,"  said  Marcantonio  at  last,  ris 
ing  to  get  himself  a  match,  "  what  in  the  world  can 
you  have  against  her  ?  We  are  not  Hindoos,  you 
know,  to  talk  about  caste  in  these  days ;  and  even 
if  that  were  the  objection,  she  comes  of  very  proper 
people,  I  am  sure,  though  they  are  foreigners." 

Madame  moved  her  feet  impatiently. 

"  Oh,  you  know  it  is  not  that !  "  she  said  petu 
lantly.  "  As  if  I  had  not  married  a  foreigner  my 
self  !  But  then,  if  you  had  felt  about  it  as  I  feel 
about  this,  I  would  have  thought  twice  "  — 

"  Have  I  not  thought  twice  — and  three  times?" 

"  Of  course,  yes  —  all  in  a  day,  while  your  head 
is*  hot  with  this  fancy.  Yes,  you  have  probably 


TO  LEEWARD.  9 

thought  a  hundred  times,  at  least,  this  very  day. 
Listen  to  me,  my  dear  boy,  and  do  what  I  tell 
you.  Go  away  to  Paris,  or  London,  or  Vienna, 
for  a  fortnight,  and  tl:en  come  back  and  tell  me 
what  you  think  about  it.  Will  you  not  do  that 
—  to  please  me  ?  " 

"  But  why  ?  "  objected  Marcantonio,  looking  very 
uncomfortable,  for  he  hated  to  refuse  his  sister  any 
thing.  "  Seriously,  why  should  I  not  marry  her  ? 
Is  there  anything  against  her  ?  If  there  is,  tell 
me." 

Donna  Diana  rose  rather  wearily  and  went  to 
the  window. 

"  I  wish  you  would  abandon  the  whole  idea,"  she 
said.  "  I  am  quite  sure  you  will  repent  when  it  is 
too  late.  I  do  not  believe  in  these  young  girls  who 
occupy  themselves  with  philosophy  and  the  good 
of  the  human  race.  Politics  —  well,  we  all  have 
a  finger  in  politics ;  but  this  dreadful  progressive 
thought  —  it  is  turning  the  world  upside  down." 

"  Oh  —  it  is  the  philosophy  that  you  do  not  like 
about  her  ?  Ebbene,  my  dear  sister,  that  is  exactly 
what  I  think  so  interesting.  This  young  English 
Hypatia  "  — 

"  Hypatia,  indeed  !  "  cried  Donna  Diana  rather 
scornfully. 

"  Yes.     Is  she  not  learned  ?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"And  beautiful?" 

"  No,  —  certainly  not.  She  is  simply  a  little 
pretty." 


10  TO  LEEWARD. 

Marcantonio  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  "  you  will  not  allow  it." 
His  sister  looked  round  quickly. 

"  That  is  rude,"  she  said.  In  a  moment  her 
brother  was  by  her  side. 

"  Forgive  me,  Diana  mia  ;  you  know  I  did  not 
mean  it.  But  you  see  I  think  she  is  beautiful,  and 
that  is  everything,  after  all." 

"  Yes,"  answered  she,  "  I  suppose  it  is  every 
thing,  now.  But  philosophy  is  not  everything. 
Put  her  out  of  your  head,  dear  boy,  and  do  not  say 
any  more  rude  things." 

Marcantonio  had  the  power  to  avoid  being  rude, 
but  he  was  not  able  to  follow  the  other  piece  of 
advice.  He  could  not  put  "  her  "  out  of  his  head. 
On  the  contrary,  he  went  out  and  shut  himself  up 
in  his  own  rooms  and  thought  of  "  her "  for  a 
whole  hour. 

He  was  not  at  all  like  his  sister  in  appearance, 
though  he  resembled  her  somewhat  in  character. 
He  was  of  middle  height,  sparely  built,  dark  of 
skin,  and  aquiline  of  feature  ;  neither  handsome  nor 
ugly,  but  very  decidedly  refined,  —  gentle  of  speech 
and  kind  of  face.  Without  any  more  vanity  than 
most  people,  he  was  yet  always  a  little  more  care 
fully  dressed  than  other  men,  and  consequently 
passed  for  a  dandy.  Altogether  he  was  a  pleasant 
person  to  look  at,  but  not  especially  remarkable  at 
first  sight. 

As  regards  his  position,  he  bore  an  ancient  name, 
dignified  with  the  title  of  marquis  ;  he  was  an  only 


TO  LEEWARD.  11 

son,  and  his  parents  were  dead ;  he  owned  the  fine 
old  palace  in  Rome  and  a  good  deal  of  land  else 
where  ;  he  never  gambled,  and  was  generally  con 
sidered  to  be  rich,  as  fortunes  go  in  modern  Italy. 
Of  course,  he  was  a  good  match,  and  many  were 
the  hints  he  received,  from  time  to  time,  to  the  ef 
fect  that  he  would  be  very  acceptable  as  a  son-in-law. 
Nevertheless  he  was  not  married,  and  he  did  not  par 
ticularly  care  for  the  society  of  women.  In  truth, 
women  did  not  find  him  very  amenable,  for  he 
would  not  marry,  and  could  not  play  adoration  well 
enough  to  please  them.  So  they  left  him  alone. 
Grave  old  gentlemen  nodded  approvingly  when 
they  spoke  of  him,  and  his  uncle  the  cardinal  re 
garded  him  as  one  of  the  mainstays  of  the  clerical 
party.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  did  not  aspire  to 
anything  of  the  kind,  and  was  merely  a  very  honest 
young  nobleman  of  good  education,  who  had  not 
made  for  himself  any  interest  in  life,  but  who  never 
theless  found  life  very  agreeable.  Possessing  many 
good  qualities,  he  yet  knew  very  well  that  ho  had 
never  been  put  to  the  test,  nor  required  to  show 
much  strength  of  character  ;  and  he  did  not  wish 
to  be  put  into  any  such  position.  His  sister  was 
very  fond  of  him,  but  she  sometimes  caught  herself 
wishing  he  would  do  something  a  little  out  of  the 
everlasting  common  round  of  social  respectability. 
He  was  twenty-nine  years  old,  and  she  was  a  year 
younger. 

Of  late,  however,  it  had  become  apparent  that 
Marcantonio,  Marchese   Carantoni,   had   not  only 


12  TO  LEEWARD. 

found  an  interest  in  life,  but  had  also  discovered 
in  himself  the  strength  of  will  necessary  to  its  pros 
ecution.  The  dull  regularity  of  his  existence  was 
shaken  to  its  foundations,  and  out  of  the  vast  social 
sea  a  figure  had  risen  which  was  destined  to  destroy 
the  old  order  of  things  with  him,  and  to  create 
a  new  one.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it ;  not  so 
much  because  he  himself  said  so,  as  because  his 
whole  manner  arid  being  proclaimed  the  fact,  that 
he  was  seriously  in  love.  Worse  than  that,  he  was 
in  love  with  a  lady  of  whom  his  sister  did  not  ap 
prove,  and  he  evidently  meant  to  marry,  whether 
she  liked  it  or  not. 

He  was  seriously  in  love ;  and,  indeed,  love  ought 
always  to  be  a  serious  thing,  or  else  it  should  be 
called  by  another  name.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
very  poor  nonsense  talked  and  written  about  love 
by  persons  only  vicariously  acquainted  with  it ;  and 
it  is  a  great  pity,  because  there  is  absolutely  no 
subject  so  permanently  interesting  to  humanity  as 
love,  whether  in  life  or  in  fiction.  And  there  is  no 
subject  which  deserves  more  tenderness  and  deli 
cacy,  or  which  requires  more  strength  in  the  hand 
ling. 

The  relation  of  brother  and  sister  is  unlike  any 
other.  It  represents  the  only  possible  absolutely 
permanent  and  platonic  affection  between  young 
men  and  young  vvomen.  Its  foundation  is  in  iden 
tity  of  blood  instead  of  in  the  spontaneous  sympa 
thy  of  the  heart,  and  even  when  brother  and  sister 
quarrel  they  understand  each  other.  Lovers  fre- 


TO  LEEWARD.  13 

quently  do  not  understand  each  other  when  they 
are  on  the  best  of  terms,  and  the  small  difference  of 
opinion  grows  by  that  misunderstanding  until  it 
makers  an  impassable  gulf.  Brothers  and  sisters 
may  be  estranged,  separated,  divided  by  family 
quarrels  or  by  the  bloody  exigencies  of  civil  war, 
but  if  once  they  are  thrown  together  again  the  mys 
terious  attraction  of  consanguinity  shows  itself,  and 
their  life  begins  again  where  it  had  been  broken  off 
by  untoward  fate.  And  yet  they  will  allow  small 
things  to  make  trouble  between  them ! 

Madame  de  Charleroi  was  inclined  to  be  angry 
with  Marcantonio,  and  when  he  was  gone  she  sat 
by  the  fire,  wondering  what  he  would  be  like  when 
he  should  be  married.  Somehow  she  had  never 
thought  of  him  as  married,  certainly  not  as  mar 
ried  to  a  pernicious  young  English  girl,  with  all 
sorts  of  queer  ideas  in  her  brain,  and  a  tendency 
to  sympathize  with  the  dynamite  party.  He  might 
surely  have  chosen  better  than  that.  Donna  Diana 
was  not  a  woman  of  narrow  prejudices,  but  she 
really  could  not  be  expected  to  be  pleased  at  seeing 
her  brother,  a  Catholic  gentleman,  bent  on  uniting 
himself  to  a  foreign  girl  with  no  fortune,  no  beauty 
—  well,  not  much  —  and  a  taste  for  explosives. 
He  might  surely  have  chosen  better. 

Donna  Diana  thought  of  her  father,  and  fancied 
what  he  would  have  said  to  such  a  match,  the 
strict  old  nobleman.  And  so,  between  uer  thoughts 
and  her  memories  the  afternoon  wore  on,  and  she 
bethought  herself  that  it  was  time  to  go  out. 


14  TO  LEEWARD. 

The  horses  spun  along  the  streets  through  the 
crisp  golden  air,  and  now  and  then  a  ray  of  the 
lowering  sun  caught  them  as  they  dashed  through 
some-  open  place  on  the  way,  making  them  look  Jike 
burnished  metal.  And  the  light  touched  Madame 
de  Charleroi's  beautiful  face  and  auburn  hair,  so 
that  the  people  stood  still  to  look  at  her  as  she 
passed, —  for  every  -Roman  knew  Donna  Diana 
Carantoni  by  sight,  just  as  every  Roman  knows 
every  other  Roman,  man,  woman  and  child,  distin 
guishing  lovingly  between  the  Romans  of  Rome 
and  the  Romans  of  the  north.  By  and  by  the  car 
riage  rolled  through  the  iron  gates  of  the  Pincio, 
and  along  the  drive  to  the  open  terrace  where  the 
band  plays,  till  it  stood  still  behind  the  row  of 
stone  posts,  within  hearing  of  the  music.  The 
place  has  been  absolutely  described  to  death,  and 
everybody  knows  exactly  how  it  looks.  There  are 
flowers,  and  a  band-stand,  and  babies,  and  a  view 
of  St.  Peter's. 

The  first  person  Donna  Diana  saw  was  her 
brother,  standing  disconsolately  by  one  of  the  short 
pillars  and  looking  at  each  carriage  as  it  drove  up. 
He  was  evidently  waiting  for  some  one  who  did  not 
come.  His  black  moustache  drooped  sadly,  and 
his  face  was  so  melancholy  that  his  sister  smiled  as 
she  watched  him. 

Marcantonio  was  soon  aware  of  her  presence, 
but  he  had  no  intention  of  showing  it,  and  stu 
diously  kept  his  head  turned  towards  the  drive, 
watching  the  line  of  carriages.  Madame  de  Char- 


TO  LEEWARD.  15 

leroi  was  soon  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  men,  all 
dressed  precisely  alike,  and  all  anxious  to  say  some 
thing  that  might  attract  the  attention  of  the  famous 
beauty.  Presently  they  bored  her,  and  her  car 
riage  moved  on ;  whereupon  they  pulled  their  hats 
off  and  began  to  chatter  scandal  amongst  them 
selves,  after  the  manner  of  their  kind.  They 
nodded  to  Marcantonio  as  they  passed  him  in  a 
body,  and  he  was  left  alone.  The  sun  was  setting, 
and  there  was  a  purple  light  over  the  flats  behind 
the  Vatican,  recently  flooded  by  a  rise  in  the  Tiber. 
There  was  no  longer  any  probability  of  her  coming, 
and  the  young  man  sauntered  slowly  down  the  steps 
and  the  steep  drive  to  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  andT 
entered  the  Corso. 

To  tell  the  truth,  he  was  disappointed,  bored, 
annoyed,  and  angry,  all  at  once.  He  had  fully  ex 
pected  to  see  her,  and  to  find  consolation  in  some 
sweet  words  for  the  hard  things  his  sister  had  said 
to  him.  Perhaps  also  he  had  enjoyed  the  prospect 
of  exhibiting  himself  to  his  sister  in  the  society  of 
the  lady  in  question,  —  for  Marcantonio  was  obsti 
nate,  and  had  just  discovered  the  fact,  so  that  he 
was  anxious  to  show  it.  Men  who  are  new  in  fight 
ing  are  sure  to  press  every  advantage,  not  having 
yet  learned  their  strength  ;  but  in  the  course  of 
time  they  become  more  generous.  Marcantonio 
was  therefore  grievously  chagrined  at  being  cheated 
of  his  small  demonstration  of  independence,  besides 
being  a  little  wounded  in  his  pride,  and  honestly 
disappointed  at  not  meeting  the  young  lady  he 


16  TO  LEEWARD. 

meant  to  marry.  In  this  state  of  mind  he  strolled 
down  the  Corso,  looked  up  at  her  windows,  passed 
and  repassed  before  the  house,  and  ultimately  in 
quired  of  the  confidential  porter,  who  knew  him, 
whether  she  were  at  home.  The  porter  said  he 
had  not  seen  the  signorina,  but  that  one  of  the  ser 
vants  had  told  him  she  was  indisposed.  The 
march ese  bit  his  black  moustache  and  went  away 
in  a  sad  mood. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Miss  LEONORA  CARNETHY  was  suffering  from 
an  acute  attack  of  philosophical  despair,  which 
accounted  for  her  not  appearing  with  her  mother 
on  the  Pincio. 

The  immediate  cause  of  the  fit  was  the  young 
lady's  inability  to  comprehend  Hegel's  statement 
that  "  Nothing  is  the  same  as  Being ; "  and  as  it 
was  not  only  necessary  to  understand  it,  but  also, 
in  Miss  Carnethy's  view,  to  reconcile  it  with  some 
dozens  of  other  philosophical  propositions  all  dia 
metrically  opposed  to  it  and  to  each  other,  the  con 
sequence  of  the  attempt  was  the  most  chaotic  and 
hopeless  failure  on  record  in  the  annals  of  thought. 
Under  these  circumstances,  Miss  Carnethy  shut 
herself  up  in  a  dark  room,  went  to  bed,  and  agreed 
with  Hegel  that  Nothing  was  precisely  the  same  as 
Being.  She  thus  scattered  all  the  other  philoso 
phies  to  the  angry  airts  of  heaven  at  one  fell  sweep, 
and  she  felt  sure  she  was  going  to  be  a  Hindoo. 

This  sounds  a  little  vague,  but  nothing  could  be 
vaguer  than  Miss  Carnethy's  state  of  mind.  Hav 
ing  agreed  with  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  that  the 
grand  mainspring  of  life  is  the  pursuit  of  happi 
ness,  and  that  no  other  motive  has  any  real  influ 
ence  in  human  affairs,  it  was  a  little  hard  to  find 
2 


18  TO  LEEWARD. 

that  there  \v:is  nothing  in  anything,  after  all.  But 
then,  since  her  own  being  was  also  nothing,  why 
should  slit-  trouble  herself?  Evidently  it  was  ini- 
pOSBible  Tor  nothing  to  trouble  itself,  ;m<l  so  the 
only  possible  peace  must,  lie  in  realizing  her  own 

nothingness,  which  could  lie  best  Accomplished  by 

going  to  lM-(i  in  a  dark  room.  It  was  very  dreary, 
of  course,  but  she  felt  it  was  good  logic,  and  must 
tell  in  the  long  run. 

It  had  happened  before.  There  had  been  days 
when  she  had  reached  the  same  point  by  a  differ 
ent  road,  and  had  been  satisfactorily  roused  by  a 
Hash  of  Intelligence  shedding  enough  light  in  her 
darkened  course  to  give  her  a  new  direction.  To 
day,  however,  it  was  quite  different.  She  had 
Certainly  now  reached  the  absolute  end  of  all  spec 
ulation,  for  she  was  convinced  of  the  general  noth 
ingness  of  ;ill  created  strength  and  life. 

"For,"  said  she,  kw  I  am  quite  sure  that  if  I  saw 
a  train  coming  down  upon  me  now,  I  would  not  get 
out  of  the  way,  —  unless,  the  train  being-  nothing, 
and  I  also  nothing1,  two  nothings  should  make  some 
thing.  \\i\l  Hegel  does  not  say  that,  and  of  course 
he  knew,  or  he  would  not  have  understood  that 
Nothing  is  the  same  as  Heing." 

This  kind  of  argument  is  irreproachable.  It  is 
like  Ihe  old  lady  who  said  she  was  so  glad  she  did 
not  like  beans,  because  if  she  did  she  would  cat 
them,  and,  as  she  detested  them,  that,  would  be  very 
Unpleasant.  There  is  no  answer  possible  to  a  prop 
erly  grounded  philosophical  argument  of  this  kind. 


TO   LlWWMtn. 

On  the  whole.  Miss  ( 1arnelhy  did  the  right  tiling 
when  she  tried  to  realize  the,  physical  being  of  noth 
ing. 

Miss  Leonora  was  no  ordinary  girl.  She  be 
longed  to  a  small  class  of  young  women  who  take  a, 
certain  elelight  in  being  different  from  "  the  rest" 

higher,  of  course.      She  had  the  misfortune  to  be 

of  a  mixed  race,  as  far  as  blood  was  concerned,  for 
her  father  was  Knglish  and  her  mother  was  a,  Rus 
sian.  It  would  probably  be  hard  to  find  two  people 
more  utterly  unlike  than  these'  two,  for  the  beel- 
eating  conqueror  is  one,  and  the  lire  ca ling  Tartar 
is  quite  another,  while  this  unlucky  child  ol  an  in 
ternational  parentage1  had  something  of  each.  Her 
history  —  she  was  twent\  two  years  of  age1,  then  — 
might  be  summed  up  in  a  very  few  words.  An 
Knglish  e-hild,  an  Italian  girl,  a  Russian  woman. 
Her  father  had  many  prejudices,  and  did  not  be 
lieve  in  much  ;  her  mother  had  no  prejudices  at  all, 
anel  believed  in  everything  under  the  sun,  and  in  a 
few  things  besieles,  so  that  certain  evilly  disposed 
persons  had  eve'ii  said  of  her  that  she-  was  supersti 
tions. 

There  is  something  infinitely  pathetic  about  sne'h 
a,  growing  to  malunlyas  had  made  Leonora,  Car- 
nethy  what,  she  was.  Imagine'  such  an  anomaly  a  ;  :i 
])e>e>r  little'  seeel,  of  which  no  one'  can  say  whether  it. 
is  a  rose  or  a  nightshade',  alternately  treated  as  :t 
fair  blossom  and  as  a  poisonous  weed.  Imagine  :i 
young  girl,  full  of  ><  certain  lierce  courage'  anel  im- 
paticiico  of  restraint,  chafing  under  the.  moral  Hat- 


20  TO  LEEWARD. 

iron  of  a  hopelessly  proper  father,  whose  ininel  is  of 
the  great  levelling  type  and  his  prejudices  as  moun 
tains  of  stone  in  the  midst,  reared  to  heaven  like 
pyramids  to  impose  a  personal  moral  geography  on 
the  human  landscape ;  and  imagine  the  same  girl 
further  possessed  of  certain  truly  British  instincts 
of  continuity  and  unreasonable  perseverance,  eter 
nally  offending  by  her  persistence  a  mother  whose 
strong  point  is  a  kind  of  gymnastic  superstition,  a 
strange  perversity  of  exuberant  belief,  forcing  itself 
into  the  place  of  principle  where  there  is  more,  — 
imagine  a  young  girl  in  such  a  situation,  in  such 
a  childhood,  and  it  will  not  seem  strange  that  she 
should  grow  up  to  be  a  very  odd  woman. 

The  father  and  mother  understood  each  other 
after  a  fashion,  but  neither  of  them  ever  understood 
Leonora,  and  so  Leonora  tried  to  understand  her 
self.  To  this  laudable  end  she  devoured  books  and 
ideas  of  all  sorts  and  kinds,  not  always  perceiving 
whether  she  took  the  poison  first  and  the  antidote 
afterwards,  or  the  contrary,  or  even  whether  she 
fed  entirely  on  poisons  or  entirely  on  antidotes. 
Poor  child!  she  found  truth  very  hard  to  define, 
and  the  criticism  exercised  by  pure  reason  a  very 
insufficient  weapon.  Moreover,  like  Job  of  old, 
she  had  friends  and  comforters  to  help  in  making 
life  hideous.  She  wondered  to-day,  as  she  lay  in 
her  darkened  room,  whether  any  of  them  would 
come,  and  the  thought  was  unpleasant. 

She  had  just  made  up  her  mind  to  ring  the  bell 
and  tell  her  maid  that  no  one  should  be  admitted, 


TO  LEEWARD.  21 

when  the  door  opened  after  the  least  possible  apol 
ogy  for  a  knock,  and  she  realized  that  she  had 
thought  of  the  contingency  too  late. 

"  Dear  Leonora !  " 

"  Dearest  Leonora  !  " 

The  room  was  so  dark  that  the  young  ladies 
stood  still  at  the  door,  as  they  fired  off  the  first 
shots  of  their  brimming  affection.  Leonora  moved 
so  as  to  see  their  dark  figures  against  the  light. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "is  it  you?" 

She  was  not  glad  to  see  her  dear  friends  Made 
moiselle  Le  Creux  and  Mademoiselle  Le  Vide,  for 
her  fits  of  philosophical  despair  were  real  while 
they  lasted,  and  she  hated  to  be  disturbed  in  them. 
But  as  these  two  young  women  were  her  com 
panions  in  the  study  of  universal  hollowness,  she 
felt  that  she  must  bear  with  them.  So,  after  a 
little  hesitation  she  allowed  them  to  make  a  little 
light  in  the  room,  and  they  sat  down  and  held 
her  hands. 

"We  want  to  talk  to  you  about  Infinite  Time," 
began  Mademoiselle  Le  Vide. 

"  And  Infinite  Space,"  added  Mademoiselle  Le 
Creux. 

"  I  am  persuaded,"  said  the  former,  "  that  our 
ideas  of  Time  are  quite  mistaken.  This  system  of 
hours  and  minutes  is  not  adapted  to  the  larger 
view." 

"  No,"  said  Leonora,  "  for  Timo  is  evidently  a 
portion  of  universal  pure  Being,  and  is  therefore 
Nothing.  1  am  sure  of  it." 


22  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  No,"  answered  Mademoiselle  Le  Vide,  "  Time 
is  not  Nothing,  —  it  is  Color." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  dear  ?  "  asked  Leonora  in 
some  surprise. 

"  I  do  not  quite  know,  dearest,  but  I  am  sure 
it  must  be.  It  is  quite  certain  that  Color  is  a 
fundamental  conception." 

"  Of  course,"  remarked  Mademoiselle  Le  Creus 
sagely.  There  was  a  pause.  Apparently  the  iden 
tity  of  Infinite  Time  with  Color  did  not  interest 
Miss  Carnethy,  who  stared  at  the  light  through 
the  blinds  between  her  two  friends. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  we  girls  have  no  field 
nowadays,"  said  she,  rather  irrelevantly. 

"  An  infinite  field,  dear,"  said  Mademoiselle  Le 
Creux. 

"  And  infinite  time,  dearest,"  said  Mademoiselle 
Le  Vide. 

"  I  would  give  anything  I  possess  to  be  able  to 
do  anything  for  anybody,"  began  Leonora.  "  We 
know  so  much  about  life  in  theory,  and  we  know 
nothing  about  it  in  practice.  I  wish  mamma  would 
even  let  me  order  the  dinner  sometimes  ;  it  would 
be  something.  But  of  course  it  is  all  an  illusion, 
and  nothing,  and  very  infinite." 

Poor  Miss  Carnethy  turned  on  her  pillow  with  a 
dreary  look  in  her  eyes. 

"  It  will  be  different  when  you  are  married, 
dear,"  suggested  one. 

"  Of  course,"  acquiesced  the  other. 

44  But  can  you  not  see,"  objected  Miss  Carnethy, 


TO  LEEWARD.  23 

"  that  we  shall  never  marry  men  whose  ideas  are 
so  high  and  beautiful  as  ours  ?  And  then,  to  be 
tied  forever  to  some  miserable  creature  !  Fancy 
not  being  understood  I  What  do  these  wretched 
society  men  care  about  the  really  great  questions 
of  life  ?  " 

"  About  Time  "  —  began  Mademoiselle  Le  Vide. 

"  And  Infinite  Space  "  —  suggested  Mademoi 
selle  Le  Creux,  scornfully. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  nothing ! "  cried  Miss  Car- 
nethy  in  real  distress. 

"And  yet  it  would  be  dreadful  to  be  an  old 
maid  "  — 

"  Perfectly  dreadful,  of  course  !  "  exclaimed  all 
three,  in  a  breath.  Then  there  was  a  short  silence, 
during  which  Leonora  moved  uneasily,  and  finally 
sat  up,  her  heavy  red  hair  falling  all  about  her. 

"  By  the  bye,"  she  said  at  last,  "  have  you  been 
out  to-day,  dears  ?  What  have  you  been  doing  ? 
Tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  We  have  been  to  Lady  Smyth-Tompkins's  tea," 
said  Mademoiselle  Le  Vide.  "  It  was  very  empty." 

"You  mean  very  hollow,"  corrected  Mademoi 
selle  Le  Creux,  "for  there  were  many  people 
there." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  "  it  was  very  hollow  — 
empty  —  everything  of  that  sort.  Then  we  went 
to  drive  on  the  Pincio." 

"  So  very  void,"  said  Mademoiselle  Le  Creux 
sadly. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Mademoiselle  Le  Vide.     "  We 


24  TO  LEEWARD. 

saw  Carantoni  leaning  against  a  post.  I  am  sure 
lie  was  thinking  of  nothing.  He  looks  just  like  a 
stuffed  glove,  —  such  an  inane  dandy !  " 

Miss  Carnethy's  blue  eyes  suddenly  looked  as 
though  they  were  conscious  of  something  more  than 
mere  emptiness  in  the  world.  Her  strong,  well- 
shaped  red  lips  set  themselves  like  a  bent  bow,  and 
the  shaft  was  not  long  in  flying. 

"  He  is  very  pleasant  to  talk  to,"  said  she,  "  and 
besides  —  he  really  dances  beautifully."  It  was 
probably  a  standing  grievance  with  her  two  friends 
that  Marcantonio  did  not  dance  with  them,  or  Leo 
nora  could  scarcely  have  produced  such  an  impres 
sion  in  so  few  words. 

"  What  does  he  talk  about  ?  "  asked  Mademoi 
selle  Le  Vide  with  an  affectation  of  indifference. 

"  Oh,  all  sorts  of  things,"  answered  Leonora. 
"  He  does  not  believe  at  all  in  the  greatest  good 
of  the  greatest  number.  He  says  he  has  discov 
ered  the  Spencerian  fallacy,  as  he  calls  it." 

"  Alas,  then  that  also  is  nothing !  "  groaned 
Mademoiselle  Le  Creux. 

"  Absolutely  nothing,  dear,"  continued  Leonora. 
"  He  says  that,  if  there  is  no  morality  beyond  hap 
piness  "  — 

"  Of  course,"  murmured  Mademoiselle  Le  Vide 
in  great  dejection. 

—  "  then  every  individual  has  as  much  right  to 
be  happy  as  the  whole  human  race  put  together, 
since  he  is  under  no  moral  obligation  to  anybody 
or  anything,  there  being  no  abstract  morality.  Do 


TO  LEEWARD.  25 

you  see  ?  It  is  very  pretty.  And  then  lie  says  it 
follows  that  there  is  no  absolute  good  unless  from  a 
divine  standard,  which  of  course  is  pure  nonsense, 
or  ought  to  be,  if  Hegel  is  right." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  ejaculated  Mademoiselle  Le  Creux, 
"  of  course  it  is !  " 

"  And  so,  dears,"  concluded  Leonora  triumphant 
ly,  "  we  are  all  going  to  the  big,  big  D do  you 

see  ?  "  The  association  of  her  friends  with  the  in 
itial  letter  in  question  seemed  exhilarating  to  Miss 
Carnethy,  and  in  truth  the  conclusion  was  probably 
suggested  more  by  her  feelings  than  by  her  logic, 
if  she  really  possessed  any.  She  felt  better,  and 
would  put  off  the  further  consideration  of  Nothing 
and  Being  to  some  more  convenient  season.  She 
therefore  gave  her  friends  some  tea  in  her  bed 
room,  and  the  conversation  became  more  and  more 
earthly,  and  the  subjects  more  and  more  minute, 
until  they  seemed  to  be  thoroughly  within  the  grasp 
of  the  three  young  ladies. 

At  last  they  went,  these  two  charming  damsels, 
very  much  impressed  with  Leonora's  cleverness, 
and  very  much  interested  in  her  future,  —  which 
she  would  only  refer  to  in  the  vaguest  terms  possi 
ble.  They  were  both  extremely  fashionable  young 
persons,  possessed  of  dowries,  good  looks,  and  vari 
ous  charms,  such  as  good  birth,  good  manners,  and 
the  like  ;  and  it  would  be  futile  to  deny  that  they 
took  a  lively  intei  est  in  the  doings  of  their  world, 
however  hollow  and  vain  the  cake  appeared  to 
them  between  two  bites. 


26  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  Are  you  going  to-night,  Leonora  dear  ?  "  they 
inquired  as  they  left  her. 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Miss  Carnethy.  "  I  must 
hear  the  rest  of  the  '  Spencerian  fallacy '  you 
know  I  " 

When  Leonora  was  alone  she  had  a  great  many 
things  to  think  of. 

The  atmosphere  had  cleared  during  the  last  hour, 
as  far  as  philosophy  was  concerned,  and  as  she 
looked  at  herself  in  the  glass,  she  was  wondering 
how  she  would  look  in  the  evening.  Not  vainly, 
—  at  least,  not  so  vainly  as  most  girls  with  her  ad 
vantages  might  have  thought,  —  but  reflectively,  the 
English  side  of  her  twofold  nature  having  gained 
'  the  upper  hand.  For  as  she  gazed  into  her  own 
blue  eyes,  trying  to  search  and  fathom  her  own 
soul,  she  was  conscious  of  something  that  gave  her 
pleasure  and  hope,  —  something  which  she  had 
treated  scornfully  enough  in  her  thoughts  that  very 
afternoon. 

She  knew,  for  her  mother  had  told  her,  that 
Marcantonio  Carantoni  had  written  to  her  parents, 
and  had  called,  and  had  had  an  interview,  and  had 
been  told  that  he  would  be  an  acceptable  son-in- 
law,  provided  that  he  could  obtain  Leonora's  con 
sent.  She  knew  also  that  in  the  natural  course  of 
things  he  would  this  very  evening  ask  her  to  be 
his  wife ;  and,  lastly,  she  knew  very  well  that  she 
would  accept  him. 

She  wondered  vaguely  how  all  those  strange  un 
settled  ideas  of  hers  would  harmonize  in  a  married 


TO  LEEWARD.  27 

life.  How  far  would  she  and  her  husband  ever 
agree  ?  She  had  a  photograph  of  him  in  her  desk, 
wliich  he  had  given  to  her  mother,  and  which  she 
had  naturally  stolen  and  hidden  away.  Now  she 
took  it  out  and  brought  it  to  the  window,  and 
looked  at  it  minutely,  wonderingly,  as  she  had 
looked  at  herself  a  moment  before  in  the  mirror. 

Yes,  he  was  a  proper  husband  enough,  with  his 
bright  honest  eyes  and  his  brave  aristocratic  nose 
and  black  moustache.  Not  very  intelligent,  per 
haps,  by  the  higher  standard,  —  that  everlasting 
"  higher  standard  "  again,  —  but  withal  goodly  and 
noble  as  a  lover  should  be.  A  lover  ?  What  weal 
and  woe  of  heart-stirring  romance  that  word  used 
to  suggest !  And  so  this  was  her  lover,  the  one 
man  of  all  others  dreamed  of  as  a  future  divinity 
throughout  her  passionate  girlhood.  A  creature  of 
sighs  and  stolen  glances  —  ay,  perhaps  of  stolen 
kisses  —  a  lover  should  be  ;  breathing  soft  things 
and  glancing  hot  glances.  Was  Marcantonio  really 
her  lover  ? 

He  was  so  honest  —  and  so  rich !  He  could 
hardly  want  her  for  her  dower's  sake,  —  no,  she 
knew  that  was  impossible.  For  her  beauty's  sake, 
then  ?  No,  she  was  not  so  beautiful  as  that,  and 
never  would  be,  though  the  fashion  has  changed 
and  red  hair  is  in  vogue.  A  pretty  conceit,  that 
mankind  fjhould  make  one  half  of  creation  fashion 
able  at  the  expense  of  the  other!  But  it  is  so  all 
the  same,  and  always  will  be.  However,  even  with 
red  hair,  and  an  immense  quantity  of  it,  she  was 
not  a  great  beauty. 


28  TO  LEEWARD. 

Perhaps  Marcantonio  would  have  married  a  great 
beauty  if  he  could  have  met  one  who  would  accept 
him.  It  would  not  be  nice,  she  thought,  to  marry 
a  man  who  could  not  have  the  best  if  he  chose.  To 
think  that  he  might  even  look  back  and  wish  she 
were  as  beautiful  as  some  one  else  !  But  after  much 
earnest  consideration  of  the  matter  no  image  of 
"  some  one  else  "  rose  to  her  mind,  and  she  con 
fessed  with  some  triumph  that  she  was  not  jealous 
of  any  one  ;  that  he  had  chosen  her  for  herself,  and 
that  she  was  without  rival  so  far  as  he  was  con 
cerned.  Not  even  the  dark  and  classic  Mademoi 
selle  Le  Vide  nor  the  fair  and  dreamy  Mademoi 
selle  Le  Creux  could  boast  of  having  roused  his 
interest.  That  was  a  great  advantage. 

But  did  she  care  for  him  —  did  she  love  him  ? 
Of  course ;  how  else  would  it  be  possible  for  her, 
with  her  high  ideas  of  manr's  goodness,  to  think  of 
ever  consenting  to  marry  him  ?  Of  course  she  loved 
him. 

It  was  not  exactly  the  kind  of  thing  she  had  ex 
pected,  when  she  used  to  think  of  love  a  year  ago  ; 
when  love  was  a  detached  ideal  with  wings  and 
arrows,  and  all  manner  of  romantic  and  mythical 
attributes.  But  considering  how  very  hollow  and 
barren  she  had  demonstrated  the  world  to  be,  this 
thing  had  a  certain  life  about  it.  It  was  a  real 
sensation,  beyond  a  doubt,  and  not  an  unhappy  one 
cither. 

The  room  grew  dark  and  she  sat  a  few  moments, 
the  photograph  lying  idly  in  her  hand.  Out  of  the 


TO  LEEWARD.  29 

dusk,  coming  from  the  fairyland  of  her  girl's  fancy, 
rose  a  figure,  the  figure  of  the  ideal  lover  she  used 
to  evoke  before  she  knew  Marcantonio  Carantoni. 
He  was  a  different  sort  of  person  altogether,  much 
taller  and  broader  and  fiercer  ;  a  very  impossibility 
of  a  man,  coming  towards  her,  and  upsetting  every 
thing  in  his  course  ;  trampling  rough-shod  over  the 
mangled  fragments  of  her  former  idols,  over  society, 
over  Marcantonio,  over  everything  till  he  was  close 
and  near  her,  touching  her  hand,  touching  her  lips, 
clasping  her  to  him  in  fierce  triumph,  and  bearing 
her  away  in  a  whirlwind  of  strength.  A  quick  sigh, 
and  she  let  the  photograph  fall  to  the  ground,  sink 
ing  back  in  her  chair  with  a  light  in  her  eyes  that 
overcame  the  darkness. 

Dreamland,  dreamland,  what  fools  you  make  of 
us  all !  What  strange  characters  there  are  among 
the  slides  of  your  theatre,  only  awaiting  the  nod  of 
Sleep,  the  manager,  to  issue  forth,  and  rant  and 
rave,  make  love  and  mischief,  do  battle  and  murder, 
play  the  scoundrel  and  the  hero,  till  our  poor  brains 
reel  and  the  daylight  is  turned  on  again,  and  all  the 
players  vanish  into  the  thinnest  of  thin  air  ! 

Miss  Carnethy  rang  for  her  maid,  who  brought 
lights  and  closed  the  shutters  and  let  down  the  cur 
tains  preparatory  to  dressing  her  mistress  for  din 
ner.  Leonora  looked  down  and  saw  Marcantonio's 
photograph  lying  where  it  had  fallen.  She  picked 
it  up  and  looked  at  it  once  more  by  the  candle 
light. 

"  Perhaps   I   shall   refuse   him    after    all,"   she 


30  TO  LEEWARD. 

thought,  coldly  enough,  and  she  put  it  back  into 
the  drawer  of  her  desk. 

Perhaps  you  are  right,  Miss  Carnethy,  and  tho 
world  is  stuffed  with  sawdust. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  soft  thick  air  of  the  ball-room  swayed 
rhythmically  to  the  swell  and  fall  of  the  violins ; 
the  perfume  of  roses  and  lilies  was  whirled  into 
waves  of  sweetness,  and  the  beating  of  many  young 
hearts  seemed  to  tremble  musically  through  the 
nameless  harm©iiy  of  instrument  and  voice,  and 
rustling  silk,  and  gliding  feet.  In  the  passionately 
moving  symphony  of  sound  and  sight  and  touch, 
the  whole  weal  and  woe  and  longing  of  life  throbbed 
in  a  threefold  pace. 

The  dwellers  in  an  older  world  did  well  to  call 
the  dance  divine,  and  to  make  it  the  gift  of  a  nim 
ble  goddess  ;  truly,  without  a  waltz  the  world  would 
have  lacked  a  very  divine  element.  Few  people 
can  really  doubt  what  the  step  was  that  David 
danced  before  the  ark. 

The  ball  was  at  a  house  where  members  of  vari 
ous  parties  met  by  common  consent  as  on  neutral 
ground.  There  are  few  such  houses  in  Rome,  or, 
indeed,  anywhere  else,  as  there  are  very  few  people 
clever  enough,  or  stupid  enough,  to  manage  such  ail 
establishment.  Men  of  entirely  inimical  convictions 
and  associations  will  occasionally  go  to  the  house 
of  a  great  genius  or  a  great  fool,  out  of  sheer  curi 
osity,  and  are  content  to  enjoy  themselves  and  even. 


32  TO  LEEWARD. 

to  talk  to  each  other  a  little,  when  no  one  is  look 
ing.  It  is  neutral  ground,  and  the  white  flag  of 
the  ball-dress  keeps  the  peace  as  it  sweeps  past  the 
black  cloth  legs  of  clericals  and  the  -gray  cloth  legs 
of  the  military  contingent,  past  the  legs  of  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  men  elbowing  each  other  for  a 
front  place  with  the  ladies. 

Conspicuous  by  her  height  and  rare  magnificence 
of  queenly  beauty  was  Madame  de  Charleroi,  mov 
ing  stately  along  as  she  rested  her  fingers  on  the 
arm  of  a  minister  less  than  half  her  size.  But 
there  was  a  look  of  weariness  and  preoccupation  on 
her  features  that  did  not  escape  her  dear  friends. 

"Diana  is  certainly  going  to  be  thin  and 
scraggy,"  remarked  a  black-browed  dame  of  Rome, 
fat  and  solid,  a  perfect  triumph  of  the  flesh.  She 
said  it  behind  her  fan  to  her  neighbor. 

"It  is  sad,"  said  the  other,  "she  is  growing 
old." 

"  Ah  yes,"  remarked  her  husband,  who  chanced 
to  be  standing  by  and  was  in  a  bad  humor,  "  she 
was  born  in  1844,  the  year  you  left  school,  my 
dear."  The  black-browed  lady  smiled  sweetly  at 
her  discomfited  friend,  who  looked  unutterable 
scorn  at  her  consort. 

Donna  Diana  glanced  uneasily  about  the  room, 
expecting  every  moment  to  see  her  brother  appear 
with  Miss  Carnethy.  She  was  very  unhappy  about 
the  whole  affair,  though  she  could  not  exactly  ex 
plain  to  herself  the  reason  of  what  she  felt.  Miss 
Carnethy  was  rich,  had  a  certain  kind  of  distin- 


TO  LEEWARD.  33 

guished  beauty  about  her,  was  young,  well  born,  - 
but  all   that  did  not  compensate  in  Madame  de 
Charleroi's  mind  for  the  fact  that  she  was  a  heretic, 
a  freethinker,  a  dabbler  in  progressist  ideas,  and 

and  —  what  ?     She  could  not  tell.     It  must  be 

prejudice  of  the  most  absurd  kind  !  She  would 
not  submit  to  it  a  moment  longer,  and  if  the  op 
portunity  offered  she  would  go  to  Miss  Carnethy 
and  say  something  pleasant  to  her.  Donna  Diana 
had  a  very  kind  and  gentle  Italian  heart  hidden 
away  in  her  proud  bosom,  and  she  had  also  a  de 
termination  to  be  just  and  honest  in  all  situations, 
—  most  of  all  when  she  feared  that  her  personal 
sympathies  were  leading  her  away. 

The  diplomat  at  her.side  chatted  pleasantly,  per 
ceiving  that  she  was  wholly  preoccupied  ;  he  talked 
quite  as  much  to  himself  as  to  her,  after  he  had 
discovered  that  she  was  not  listening.  And  Donna 
Diana  determined  to  do  a  kind  action,  and  the 
swinging  rhythm  of  the  straining,  surging  waltz 
was  in  her  ears.  She  was  just  wondering  idly 
enough  what  the  little  diplomat  had  been  saying  to 
her  during  the  last  ten  minutes,  when  she  saw  her 
brother  enter  the  room  with  Miss  Carnethy  on  his 
arm.  They  had  met  in  one  of  the  outer  drawing- 
rooms  and  had  come  in  to  dance.  Donna  Diana 
watched  them  as  they  caught  the  measure  and 
whirled  away. 

"She  is  affreusement  interesting,"  remarked  the 
little  man  beside  her  as  he  noticed  where  she  was 
looking. 


34  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  She  is  also  decidedly  a  beauty,"  answered  Ma 
dame  de  Charleroi,  with  the  calm  authority  of  a 
woman  whose  looks  had  never  been  questioned. 

People  who  are  in  love  are  proverbially  amusing 
objects  to  the  general  public.  There  is  an  air  of 
shyness  about  them,  or  else  a  ridiculous  incapacity 
for  perceiving  the  details  of  life,  or  at  least  an  ab 
surd  infatuation  for  each  other  most  refreshing  to 

O 

witness.  There  is  no  mistaking  the  manner  of 
them,  if  the  thing  is  genuine. 

The  sadness  that  had  been  on  Donna  Diana's 
face,  and  which  the  resolution  to  be  civil  to  Miss 
Carnethy  had  momentarily  dispelled,  returned  now 
as  she  watched  the  young  couple.  She  remembered 
her  own  courtship,  and  she  fancied  she  saw  similar 
conditions  in  the  wooing  now  going  on  under  her 
eyes.  Marcantonio  was  furiously  in  love,  after  his 
manner,  but  she  thought  Leonora's  face  looked 
hard.  How  could  she  let  her  brother  marry  a  wo 
man  who  did  not  love  him  ?  Her  resolution  to  be 
civil  wavered. 

But  just  then,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  waltz 
brought  the  pair  near  to  where  she  was  standing. 
Marcantonio  was  talking  pleasantly,  with  a  quick 
smile  coming  and  going  at  every  minute.  Leonora 
stood  looking  down  and  toying  with  her  fan.  One 
instant  she  looked  up  at  him,  and  Donna  Diana 
saw  the  look  and  the  quick-caught  heave  of  the 
snowy  neck. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  it  is,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  but  it  is  certainly  love  of  some  kind."  She  moved 


TO  LEEWARD.  35 

towards  them,  steering  her  little  diplomat  through 
the  sea  of  silk  and  satin,  jewels  and  lace. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mademoiselle  Carnethy  ?  "  she 
said,  in  a  voice  that  was  meant  to  be  kind,  and  was 
at  least  very  civil. 

Leonora  stood  somewhat  in  awe  of  the  Vicom- 
tesse  de  Charleroi,  who  was  so  stately  and  beauti 
ful  and  cold.  But  she  was  very  much  pleased  at 
the  mark  of  attention.  It  was  an  approval,  and  an 
approval  of  the  most  public  kind.  The  few  words 
they  exchanged  were  therefore  all  that  could  be 
desired.  The  vicomtesse  nodded,  smiled,  nodded 
again,  and  sailed  away  in  the  easy  swinging  cadence 
of  the  waltz.  Marcantonio  looked  gratefully  after, 
her.  The  air  was  warm  and  soft,  and  the  light 
fluff  from  the  linen  carpet  hung  like  a  summer  haze 
over  the  people,  and  the  hundreds  of  candles,  and 
the  masses  of  flowers. 

Marcantonio  was  silent.  Something  in  the  air 
told  him  that  the  time  had  come  for  him  to  speak, 
—  something  in  Miss  Carnethy's  look  told  him 
plainly  enough,  he  thought,  that  he  would  not 
speak  in  vain.  The  last  notes  of  the  waltz  chased 
each  other  away  and  died,  and  the  people  fell  to 
walking  about  and  talking.  Marcantonio  gave  Leo 
nora  his  arm,  and  the  pair  moved  off  with  the 
stream,  and  through  the  great  rooms  till  they 
reached  an  apartment  less  crowded  than  the  rest, 
and  sat  down  near  a  doorway. 

The  young  man  did  not  lack  courage,  and  he  was 
honestly  in  love  with  Leonora.  He  felt  little  hesi- 


86  TO  LEEWARD. 

tation  about  speaking,  and  only  wished  to  put  the 
question  as  frankly  and  as  courteously  as  might  be. 
As  for  her,  she  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  that 
she  was  agitated,  although  she  had  said  to  herself  a 
hundred  times  that  she  would  be  as  calm  as  though 
she  were  talking  about  the  weather.  But  now  that 
the  supreme  moment  had  come,  a  strange  beating 
rose  in  her  breast,  and  her  face  was  as  white  as  her 
throat.  She  looked  obstinately  before  her,  seeing 
nothing,  and  striving  to  appear  to  the  world  as 
though  nothing  were  happening.  Marcantonio  sat 
by  her  side  and  glanced  quickly  at  her  two  or  three 
times,  with  a  very  slight  feeling  of  uncertainty  as 
to  the  result  of  his  wooing,  —  very  slight,  but 
enough  to  make  waiting  impossible,  where  the  stake 
was  so  high. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  in  low  and  earnest 
tones,  "I  have  the  permission  of  monsieur  your 
father,  and  of  madame  your  mother,  to  address  you 
upon  a  subject  which  very  closely  concerns  my 
happiness.  Mademoiselle,  will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 
He  sat  leaning  a  little  towards  her,  his  hands  folded 
together  and  his  face  illuminated  for  a  moment 
with  intense  love  and  anxiety.  But  Miss  Carnethy 
did  not  see  the  look,  and  only  heard  the  formal 
proposition  his  words  conveyed.  She  saw  a  man 
standing  in  the  door  near  them ;  she  knew  him,  and 
she  wondered  a  little  whether  he  would  have  used 
the  same  phrases  in  asking  a  woman  to  marry  him, 
—  whether  all  men  would  speak  alike  in  such  a 
case. 


TO  LEEWARD.  37 

She  had  looked  forward  to  this  scene  —  more 
than  once.  Again  the  figure  of  the  ideal  lover  of 
her  dreams  came  to  her,  and  seemed  to  pour  out 
strong  speech  of  love.  Again  she  involuntarily 
drew  a  comparison  in  her  mind  between  Marcan- 
tonio  and  some  one,  something  she  could  not  define. 
On  a  sudden  all  the  honesty  of  her  conscience 
sprang  up  and  showed  her  what  she  really  felt. 

A  thousand  times  she  had  said  to  herself  that 
she  would  never  marry  a  man  she  did  not  love  ; 
and  for  once  that  she  had  said  it  to  herself,  she 
had  said  it  ten  times  over  to  her  friends,  feeling 
that  she  was  inculcating  a  good  and  serviceable 
lesson.  And  now  her  conscience  told  her  that  she 
did  not  love  Marcantonio,  —  at  least  not  truly, 
certainly  not  as  much  as  she  would  have  liked 
to  love.  Then  she  remembered  what  she  had 
thought  that  afternoon.  How  was  it  possible  that 
she  could  have  thought  of  him  for  a  moment  as 
her  husband,  if  she  did  not  love  him,  —  especially 
with  her  high  standard  about  such  things?  Oh, 
that  high  standard !  With  a  quick  transition  of 
thought  she  made  up  her  mind ;  but  there  was  a 
strange  little  feeling  of  pain  in  her,  such  as  the 
prince  might  have  felt  in  the  fairy  tale  when  the 
ring  pricked  him.  Nevertheless,  her  mind  was 
made  up. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  very  suddenly,  turning  so  that 
she  could  almost  see  his  eyes,  but  not  quite,  for  she 
instinctively  dreaded  to  look  him  in  the  face  ;  "yes, 
I  will  be  your  wife." 


38  TO   LEEWARD. 

"  Merci,  mademoiselle,"  lie  said.  The  room  was 
nearly  empty  at  the  moment,  and  Marcantonio  took 
her  passive  hand  and  touched  his  lips  to  her  fingers, 
being1  quite  sure  that  no  one  was  looking.  But  the 
man  who  stood  at  the  door  saw  it. 

"  Such  a  good  match,  you  know  !  "  said  some 
people,  who  had  no  prejudices. 

"  Such  a  special  grace  !  "  said  the  resident  Anglo- 
American  Catholics  ;  "  he  is  quite  sure  to  convert 
her  !  " 

"  Such  a  special  grace !  "  exclaimed  the  resident 
Anglo-American  Protestants  ;  "  she  is  quite  sure  to 
lead  him  back !  " 

"  II  faut  toujours  se  me*fier  ses  saints,"  remarked 
Marcantonio's  uncle,  concerning  his  nephew. 

"Never  trust  red-haired  women,"  said  the  man 
who  had  stood  at  the  door. 

The  engagement  made  a  sensation  in  Rome,  a 
consummation  Very  easily  attained,  and  very  little 
to  be  desired.  In  places  where  the  intercourse  be 
tween  young  marriageable  men  and  young  marriage 
able  women  is  so  constrained  as  it  is  in  modern  Eu 
rope,  a  man's  inclinations  do  not  escape  comment, 
and  a  very  small  seed  of  truth  grows,  beneath  the 
magic  incantations  of  society  tea  parties,  to  a  very 
large  bush  of  gossip.  Nevertheless  these  good  peo 
ple  are  always  astonished  when  their  prophecies  are 
fulfilled,  and  the  bush  bears  fruit  instead  of  vanish 
ing  into  emptiness  ;  which  shows  that  there  is  some 
capacity  left  in  them  for  distinguishing  truth  and 
untruth.  Marcantonio's  marriage  had  long  been  a 


TO  LEEWARD.  39 

subject  in  every  way  to  the  taste  of  the  chatterers, 
and  though  Madame  de  Charleroi  had  accused  her 
brother  of  hastiness,  for  lack  of  a  better  reproach, 
it  was  nearly  a  year  since  his  admiration  for  Miss 
Carnethy  had  been  first  noticed.  During  that  time 
every  particular  of  her  parentage  and  fortune  had 
been  carefully  sought  after,  especially  by  those  who 
had  the  least  interest  in  the  matter  ;  and  the  uni 
versal  verdict  had  been  that  the  Marchese  Caran- 
toni  might,  could,  should,  and  probably  would,  marry 
Miss  Leonora  Carnethy.  And  now  that  the  engage 
ment  was  out,  society  grunted  as  a  pig  may  when 
among  the  crab-oaks  of  Perigord  he  has  discovered 
a  particularly  fat  and  unctuous  truffle. 

Probably  the  happiest  person  was  Marcantonio 
himself.  He  was  an  honest,  whole-souled  man, 
and  in  his  eyes  Leonora  was  altogether  the  most 
beautiful,  the  most  accomplished,  and  the  most 
charming  woman  in  the  woild.  That  he  expressed 
himself  with  so  much  self-control  and  propriety 
when  he  asked  her  to  marry  him  was  wholly  due 
to  the  manner  of  his  education  and  training  in  the 
social  proprieties.  That  a  man  should  use  any 
language  warmer  or  less  guarded  than  that  of  ab 
solutely  respectful  and  distant  courtesy  toward  the 
lady  he  intended  to  make  his  wife  was  not  conceiv 
able  to  him.  In  the  privacy  of  his  own  rooms  he 
worshipped  and  adored  her  with  all  his  might  and 
main,  but  when  he  addressed  her  in  person  it  was 
as  a  subject  addresses  his  sovereign ;  a  tone  of  re 
spectful  and  submissive  reverence  and  obedience 


40  TO  LEEWARD. 

pervaded  his  actions  and  his  words.  He  would 
have  pleased  a  woman  who  loved  sovereignty,  bet 
ter  than  a  woman  who  dreamed  of  a  sovereign  love. 
But  she  was  never  out  of  his  thoughts,  and  if  he 
wooed  her  humbly,  he  anticipated  some  submission 
on  her  part  after  marriage.  He  had  no  idea  of 
always  allowing  her  mind  to  wander  in  the  strange 
channels  it  seemed  to  prefer.  He  thought  such  an 
intelligence  capable  of  better  things,  and  he  deter 
mined,  half  unconsciously  at  first,  and  as  a  matter 
of  course,  that  Miss  Carnethy,  the  philosopher, 
should  be  known  before  long  as  the  Marchesa 
Carantoni,  the  Catholic.  Gradually  the  idea  grew 
upon  him,  until  he  saw  it  as  the  grand  object  of  his 
life,  the  great  good  deed  he  was  to  do.  His  love 
consented  to  it,  and  was  purified  and  beautified  to 
him  in  the  thought  that  by  it  he  should  lead  a  great 
soul  like  hers  to  truth  and  light.  He  was  perfectly 
in  earnest,  as  he  always  was  in  matters  of  impor 
tance  ;  for  of  all  nations  and  peoples  Italians  have 
been  most  accused  of  frivolity,  heartlessness,  and 
inconstancy,  and  of  all  races  they  perhaps  deserve 
the  accusation  least.  They  are  the  least  imagina 
tive  people  on  earth,  apart  from  the  creative  arts, 
and  the  most  simple  and  earnest  men  in  the  matter 
of  love.  Northern  races  hate  Italians,  and  they 
fasten  triumphantly  on  that  unlucky  Latin  sinner 
who  falls  first  in  their  way  as  the  prototype  of  his 
nation,  and  as  the  butt  of  their  own  prejudice.  In 
the  eyes  of  most  northern  people  all  Italians  are 
liars ;  just  as  a  typical  Frenchman  calls  England 


TO  LEEWARD.  41 

"perfide  Albion,"  and  all  Englishmen  traitors  and 
thieves.  Who  shall  decide  when  such  doctors  disa 
gree  ?  And  is  it  not  a  proverb  that  there  is  honor 
among  thieves  ? 

Marcantonio  never  spoke  of  these  ideas  of  his  to 
his  friends  when  they  congratulated  him  on  his  en 
gagement.  He  only  looked  supremely  happy,  and 
told  every  one  that  he  was,  which  was  quite  true. 
But  his  sister  was  to  him  a  great  difficulty,  for  she 
evidently  was  disappointed  and  displeased.  He  de 
bated  within  himself  how  he  should  appease  her, 
and  he  determined  to  lay  before  her  his  views 
about  Leonora's  future.  To  that  intent  he  visited 
her  in  the  boudoir,  where  they  had  so  often  talked 
before  the  engagement. 

Madame  de  Charleroi  received  him  as  usual,  but 
there  was  a  look  in  her  eyes  that  he  was  not  accus 
tomed  to  see  there,  —  an  expression  of  protest,  just 
inclining  to  coldness,  which  had  the  effect  of  rous 
ing  his  instinct  of  opposition.  With  his  other 
friends  he  had  found  no  occasion  for  being  com 
bative,  and  his  old  manner  had  sufficed ;  but  with 
his  sister  he  found  himself  involuntarily  prepar 
ing  for  war,  though  his  intentions  were  in  reality 
pacific  enough.  Marcantonio  was  very  young,  in 
spite  of  his  nine  and  twenty  years.  His  manner 
now,  as  he  met  his  sister,  was  a  trifle  more  formal 
than  usual,  and  he  bent  his  brows  and  pulled  his 
black  moustache  as  he  sat  down. 

"  Carissima  Diana,"  he  began,  "  I  must  speak 
with  you  about  my  marriage,  and  many  things." 


42  TO  LEEWARD. 

u  Yes,  —  what  is  it  ?  "  said  his  sister,  calmly,  as 
she  turned  a  piece  of  tapestry  on  her  knee  to  finish 
the  end  of  a  needleful  of  silk.  Marcantonio  had 
somehow  expected  her  to  say  something  that  he 
could  take  hold  of  and  oppose.  Her  bland  ques 
tion  confused  him. 

"  You  are  not  pleased,"  he  began  awkwardly. 

"  What  would  you  have  ?  "  she  asked,  still  busy 
with  her  work.  "  I  am  sure  I  told  you  what  I 
thought  about  it  long  ago." 

"  I  want  you  to  change  your  mind,"  said  Marc 
antonio,  delighted  at  the  first  show  of  opposition. 
Madame  de  Charleroi  raised  her  eyebrows,  gave  a 
little  sigh  of  annoyance,  and  turned  towards  him. 

"  I  will  always  treat  your  wife  with  the  highest 
consideration,"  she  said,  as  though  that  settled  the 
matter  and  she  wished  to  drop  the  subject.  But 
her  brother  was  not  satisfied. 

"I  want  you  to  love  her,  Diana;  I  want  you  to 
treat  her  as  your  sister." 

Donna  Diana  was  silent,  and  Marcantonio  shifted 
his  position  uneasily,  for  he  did  not  know  exactly 
what  to  do,  and  he  saw  that  he  was  failing  in  his 
mission.  But  in  a  moment  his  heart  guided  him. 
He  went  and  sat  beside  her,  and  laid  his  hand  on 
hers. 

"  We  cannot  quarrel,  dear,"  he  said.  "  But  will 
you  love  her  if  I  make  her  like  you  —  if  I  make 
her  thoughts  as  beautiful  as  yours  ?  " 

Donna  Diana's  face  softened  as  she  turned  to 
him  and  affectionately  pressed  his  hand. 


TO  LEE  WARD.  43 

"  I  will  try  to  love  her  for  your  sake,  dear  boy," 
she  answered  gently;  and  lie  kissed  her  fingers 
in  thanks. 

"Dear  Diana,"  he  said,  "you  are  so  good!  But 
you  know  she  is  really  not  at  all  like  what  you 
fancy  her.  She  is  full  of  heart,  and  so  wonderfully 
delicate  and  lovely,  —  and  so  marvellously  intelli 
gent.  There  is  nothing  she  does  not  know.  She 
has  read  all  the  philosophies  "  — 

"  Yes,  I  know  she  has,"  interrupted  his  sister,  as 
though  deprecating  the  discussion  of  Miss  Carne- 
thy's  wisdom. 

"  But  not  as  you  think,"  he  protested,  catching 
the  meaning  of  her  tone.  "  She  has  read  them  all, 
but  she  will  take  what  is  best  from  each,  and  I 
am  cjuite  sure  she  will  be  a  good  Catholic  before 
long." 

"  I  really  hope  so,"  said  Donna  Diana  seriously. 

"  Not  that  I  should  love  her  any  the  less  if  she 
were  not,"  continued  Marcantonio,  who  was  loth  to 
feel  that  there  could  be  any  condition  to  his  love. 
"  I  would  love  her  just  as  much  if  she  were  a  Chi 
nese,  —  just  as  much,  I  am  sure.  But  of  course  it 
would  be  much  better." 

"  Of  course,"  assented  Diana,  smiling  a  little  at 
his  enthusiasm.  .  Somehow  the  peace  was  made,  — 
it  is  so  easy  to  make  peace  when  each  can  trust  the 
other,  and  knows  it !  Just  as,  on  the  evening  when 
her  brother  offered  himself  to  Leonora,  Madame 
de  Charleroi  had  determined  to  say  something 
pleasant,  so  now  she  made  up  her  mind  to  stand  by 


44  TO  LEEWARD. 

Marcantonio,  and  to  help  him  in  his  married  life  b^ 
being  as  sympathetic  and  as  kind  as  possible. 

In  due  time  Marcantonio  obtained  the  permission 
of  the  Church  to  unite  himself  with  his  Protestant 
wife,  and  after  a  great  many  formalities  the  wed 
ding  took  place  in  the  late  spring,  after  Easter. 

Weddings  are  tiresome  things  to  talk  about,  and 
even  the  principal  persons  concerned  in  them  al 
ways  wish  them  over  as  soon  as  possible.  What 
can  be  more  trying  for  a  young  girl  than  to  be  set 
up  to  be  stared  at  by  the  hour,  be-f eathered  and  be- 
rigged  in  a  multiplicity  of  ornaments,  made  flimsy 
with  tulle  and  lace,  and  ghastly  with  the  accumtda% 
tion  of  white  things,  when  she  is  pale  enough  al 
ready  with  the  acute  fever  of  an  exceedingly  com 
plicated  state  of  mind  ?  Or  how  can  a  man  possibly 
enjoy  being  envied,  hated,  loved,  despised,  and  con 
sidered  a  fool,  by  his  rivals,  his  bride,  the  woman 
he  has  not  married,  and  his  bachelor  friends,  —  all 
in  a  breath  ?  It  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  any  one 
with  an  intelligence  above  that  of  the  average  pea 
cock  can  enjoy  playing  a  leading  part  in  a  matri 
monial  parade. 

Marcantonio  Carantoni  and  Leonora  Carnethy 
were  married,  and  Mademoiselle  Le  Vide  shed  a 
tear  as  she  observed  how  extremely  empty  a  form 
it  was.  But  Mademoiselle  Le  Creux  looked  a  little 
pale,  and  said  she  was  quite  sure  she  could  have 
chosen  some  one  "  better  than  that," 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  NEEDLES  and  pins,  needles  and  pins,"  —  the 
rhyme  is  obvious,  and  very  old,  —  "  When  a  man 
marries  his  trouble  begins."  Marcantonio  is  an 
Italian,  and  his  native  language  contains  no  precise 
equivalent  of  this  piece  of  wisdom,  with  which  every 
English  baby  is  made  acquainted  as  soon  as  it  can 
know  anything. 

The  real  difficulty  seems  to  be  that  there  are  as 
many  different  ways  of  looking  at  marriage  as  there 
are  people  in  the  world.  Marriage  is*described  as 
being  either  a  holy  bond  or  a  social  contract.  Ob 
viously  a  holy  bond  implies  at  least  a  certain  modi 
cum  of  holiness  on  the  part  of  the  bound ;  and  it 
is  not  likely  that  a  single  and  very  simple  form  of 
contract  can  ever  cover  the  multifarious  require 
ments  and  exigencies  of  a  thousand  million  human 
beings.  A  contract,  in  order  to  be  satisfactory, 
must  be  thoroughly  understood  and  appreciated  by 
the  parties  who  undertake  it,  and  this  seems  to  be 
a  very  unusual  case  in  the  world. 

When  Marcantonio  Carantoni  married,  he  was 
possessed  of  very  noble  and  exalted  ideas,  totally 
unformulated,  but,  as  he  supposed,  only  requiring 
the  seal  of  experience  to  define,  cement,  and  consol 
idate  them.  He  believed  that  his  wife  would  be 


46  TO  LEEWARD. 

the  stately  queen  of  his  household,  the  gentle  part 
ner  of  his  deeds  and  thoughts,  a  loving  listener  to 
his  words.  He  pictured  to  himself  a  magnificence 
of  goodness  unattainable  for  a  man  alone,  but  within 
easy  reach  of  a  man  and  a  woman  together;  he 
imagined  a  broad  perfection  of  human  relations 
which  should  be  a  paradise  on  earth  and  an  exam 
ple  of  beatific  possibility  to  the  world.  He  dreamed 
of  that  kind  of  happiness,  which,  as  it  undoubtedly 
passes  the  bounds  of  experience,  is  aptly  termed 
by  poets  transcendent,  and  is  regarded  by  men  of 
the  world  as  a  nonsensical  fiction.  He  saw  visions 
in  his  sleep,  and  waking  believed  them  real,  for  hs 
had  a  great  capacity  for  believing  in  all  that  was 
good ;  and  as  he  was  human  he  found  ceaseless  de 
light  in  believing  in  these  good  things,  more  espe 
cially,  as  in  store  for  himself.  He  had  always  been 
fond  of  the  pleasant  side  of  life,  and  found  no  dif 
ficulty  in  conceiving  of  an  infinite  series  of  pleasant 
ness,  culminating  in  his  union  with  Miss  Leonora 
Carnethy.  He  never  analyzed.  Only  pessimists 
analyze,  and  the  best  they  can  accomplish  thereby 
is  to  make  other  men  even  as  themselves,  critical  to 
see  the  darns  in  other  people's  clothes,  and  learned 
to  spy  out  infinitesimal  mud-specks  upon  the  gar 
ments  of  saints. 

Marcantonio  was  young.  There  is  a  faculty 
which  men  acquire  from  mixing  with  the  world, 
which  is  not  pessimism,  nor  analysis,  nor  indiffer 
ence  ;  it  is  rather  a  knowledge  of  good  and  evil 
with  a  fair  appreciation  of  their  proportion  in  hu- 


TO  LEEWARD.  47 

man  affairs.  Nothing  is  more  necessary  to  thought 
than  the  generalizing  of  laws ;  nothing  is  more 
pernicious  than  the  generalizing  of  humanity  into 
types,  the  torturing  application  of  the  nineteenth 
century  boot  to  the  feet  of  all,  —  men,  women,  and 
children  alike.  If  men  are  only  interesting  for 
what  they  are,  regardless  of  what  they  may  be,  a 
day  of  any  one's  actual  experience  must  be  a  thou 
sand  times  more  interesting  than  all  the  fictions 
that  ever  were  written.  If  art  consists  in  the  ac 
curate  presentation  of  detail,  then  the  highest  art 
is  the  petrifaction  of  nature,  and  the  wax-works  of 
an  anatomical  museum  are  more  artistically  beauti 
ful  than  all  the  marbles  of  Phidias  and  Praxiteles. 
True  art  depends  upon  an  a  priori  capacity  for 
distinguishing  the  beautiful  from  the  ugly,  and  the 
grand  from  the  grotesque  ;  and  true  knowledge  of 
the  world  lies  in  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil, 
not  confounding  the  noble  with  the  ignoble  under 
one  smearing  of  mud,  nor  yet  whitewashing  the 
devil  into  an  ill-gotten  reputation  for  cleanliness. 
The  temptation  of  Saint  Anthony  may  convey  a 
righteous  moral  lesson,  but  the  temptation  of  JSaint 
Anthony  as  described  by  his  pig  would  risk  being 
too  unsavory  to  be  wholesome. 

But  Marcantonio  was  young,  and  he  troubled 
himself  about  none  of  these  things,  supposing 
everything  to  be  good,  beautiful,  and  enduring, 
excepting  such  things  as  were  evidently  bad,  inas 
much  as  they  were  ugly  and  disagreeable. 

Now   Miss   Leonora   Carnethy   had    long  been 


48  TO  LEEWARD. 

given  over  to  a  sort  of  sleek,  cynic  philosophy,  — 
the  kind  of  cynicism  that  uses  lavender  water  in 
its  tub.  Her  dissatisfaction  with  the  world  was 
genuine,  but  she  found  means  to  alleviate  it  in  the 
small  luxuries  and  amenities  of  her  daily  life.  She 
and  her  friends  had  talked  the  kernel  out  of  life, 
or  thought  that  they  had,  but  the  shell  was  stifl 
fresh  and  well  favored.  Leonora  herself  was  in 
deed  subject  to  moods  and  fits  of  real  unhappiness, 
for  she  was  far  too  intelligent  a  person  not  to  long 
for  something  beautiful,  even  when  she  was  most 
convinced  that  life  was  ugly.  There  were  times 
when  she  dreamed  of  an  ideal  man  who  should  win 
her,  and  love  her,  and  give  her  all  the  happiness 
she  had  missed.  And  again  she  would  dream  of 
the  freedom  of  the  earth-bound  soul  from  ills,  and 
cares,  and  thorns,  and  she  would  enter  some  silent 
Roman  church  and  kneel  for  hours-before  a  dimly 
lighted  altar,  praying  for  rest,  and  peace,  and  in 
spiration  of  holiness.  But  there  was  too  much 
poetic  feeling  in  her  religious  outpourings.  If  re 
ligion  is  to  be  poetic,  a  very  little  thing  wiU  destroy 
its  harmony ;  some  careless  sacristan  chatting  with 
a  crony  in  the  corner  of  the  church,  or  a  couple  of 
thoughtless  children  wrangling  over  a  half-penny 
by  the  door,  or  any  such  little  thing,  would  destroy 
instantly  the  fair  illusion  that  lay  as  balm  upon 
her  unrestful  soul.  Religion  must  be  real  to  every 
man  if  it  is  to  stand  the  test  of  reality. 

Leonora's  views  of  marriage  were  therefore  more 
or  less  subject  to  her  moods.    There  were  days,  in- 


TO  LEEWARD.  49 

deed,  few  and  far  between,  when  her  better  intelli 
gence  got  the  upper  hand  of  the  fictitious  fabric  of 
so-called  philosophy  which  she  had  erected  for  her 
self.  Then  for  a  brief  space  she  thought  of  life  very 
much  as  Marcantonio  did,  and  she  contemplated 
her  marriage  as  a  noble  and  worthy  career,  —  for 
marriage  is  a  career  to  most  women  of  the  world. 
But  then,  again,  all  her  uncertainty  returned  two 
fold  upon  her,  and  the  only  real  thing  was  the 
dream  of  love,  the  vision  of  a  lover,  and  the  hope 
of  a  realized  passion.  She  was  so  strong  and  radi 
antly  human,  that  from  the  moment  when  her 
mind  fell  into  abeyance  the  material  beauty  of  life 
sprang  up  in  her  heart,  until,  being  disappointed 
and  cast  down  through  not  attaining  the  end  of  her 
passionate  dreams,  she  once  more  sank  into  a  half- 
religious,  half-poetic  melancholy.  Nevertheless,  the 
strongest  element  in  her  character  was  the  desire 

O 

to  be  loved,  not  by  every  one,  but  by  some  one 
manly  man,  and  loved  with  all  the  strength  he  had, 
overwhelmingly.  Her  studies  were  a  refuge  when 
she  saw  how  improbable  such  a  piece  of  sweet  for 
tune  was,  and,  as  might  have  been  expected,  they 
were  far  from  regular  and  systematic.  She  read 
a  great  deal,  especially  of  such  authors  as  had  a 
reputation  for  being  profound  rather  than  clear, 
and,  as  her  mind  had  received  no  kind  of  prelimi 
nary  training,  the  result  was  eminently  unsatisfac 
tory  to  herself.  To  Marcantonio,  who  knew  more 
about  the  opera  than  about  philosophy,  she  seemed 
a  miracle  of  learning,  and  she  loved  to  talk  with 
4 


50  TO  LEEWARD. 

him  about  theories,  generally  finding  that,  in  spite 
of  his  ignorance,  he  made  extremely  sensible  re 
marks  upon  them.  But  he  always  tried  to  lead 
her  to  different  subjects,  for,  in  spite  of  his  im 
mense  admiration  for  what  he  supposed  to  be  her 
wisdom,  he  was  aware  that  it  seemed  very  vague, 
and  that  it  even  occasionally  bored  him. 

Leonora  had  acquired  the  unfortunate  faculty  of 
deceiving  herself,  and  when  the  fit  was  upon  her 
she  saw  things  obliquely.  In  spite  of  the  little 
prick  of  conscience  that  hurt  her  when  she  accepted 
Marcantonio's  offer,  she  had  soon  persuaded  her 
self  that  she  loved  him,  on  the  principle  that,  since 
her  "  standard  "  was  so  veiy  "  high,"  she  could  not 
possibly  have  demeaned  herself  to  accepting  a  man 
she  did  not  love.  It  is  a  very  fine  thing  to  believe 
that  we  are  so  far  removed  from  evil  that  we  can 
not  do  wrong,  and  therefore  that  whatever  we  do  is 
infallibly  right,  no  matter  how  our  instincts  may 
cry  out  against  it.  It  is  a  most  comforting  and 
comfortable  vicious  circle  which  we  convert  into  a 
crown  of  glory  for  ourselves  on  the  smallest  provo 
cation.  So  when  Leonora  was  finally  married  to 
Marcantonio,  she  made  herself  believe  that  she 
loved  him,  and  all  her  vague  theories  were  tem 
porarily  cast  aside  and  trampled  on  in  her  determi 
nation  to  realize  in  him  all  the  happiness  she  had 
dreamed  of  in  her  ideal. 

She  had  got  a  husband  who  did  most  truly  love 
her,  and  whose  one  and  absorbing  thought  would 
be  her  happiness,  but  he  was  not  exactly  what  she 


TO  LEEWARD.  51 

had  longed  for.  She  mistook  his  courtesy  for 
coldness,  and  his  deference  for  indifference,  and 
since  she  had  persuaded  herself  that  she  loved  him 
she  wanted  to  find  him  a  perfect  fiery  volcano  of 
love  and  jealousy.  Marcantonio  was  nothing  of  the 
kind ;  he  was  calm,  courteous,  and  affectionate  ;  he 
had  not  the  slightest  cause  for  jealousy,  and,  not  in 
the  least  understanding  his  wife,  he  was  perfectly 
happy. 

Of  all  tests  of  true  love  a  honeymoon  is  the 
severest,  and  by  every  right  of  sensible  sequence 
ought  to  come  last  of  all  in  the  history  of  married 
couples.  It  is  the  great  destroyer  of  illusions,  and 
the  more  illusions  there  are  the  greater  the  destruc 
tion.  Two  people  have  seen  each  other  occasionally, 
perhaps  for  an  hour  every  day,  —  and  that  is  a 
great  deal  in  Europe,  —  during  which  meetings 
they  have  become  more  or  less  deeply  enamored, 
each  of  the  qualities  of  the  other.  People  notori 
ously  behave  very  differently  to  the  people  they 
love  and  to  the  world  at  large ;  but  their  behavior 
to  the  world  at  large  is  the  outcome  of  their  char 
acter,  whereas  their  conduct  to  each  other  is  the 
result,  or  the  concomitant,  of  a  passion  which  may 
or  may  not  be  real,  profound,  and  good.  But  each 
has  a  great  number  of  characteristics  which  prac 
tically  never  appear  during  those  hours  of  court 
ship.  Suddenly  the  two  are  married,  and  the  lid 
of  Pandora's  box  is  hoisted  high  with  a  vicious 
jerk  that  scares  the  little  imps  inside  to  the  verge 
of  distraction,  and  they  fly  out  incontinent,  with  an 


52  TO  LEE  WARD. 

ill  savor.  If  the  lid  had  been  gently  raised,  the 
evil  spirits  would  probably  have  issued  forth  stealth 
ily,  and  one  at  a  time,  without  any  great  fuss,  and 
might  not  have  been  noticed.  The  two  condemned 
ones  travel  together,  eat  together,  talk  together, 
until  in  a  single  month  they  have  exhausted  a  list 
of  bad  qualities  that  should  have  lasted  at  least 
half  a  dozen  years  under  ordinary  circumstances. 

Marcantonio  and  Leonora  travelled  for  a  time, 
and  at  last  agreed  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the 
summer  in  some  quiet  seaside  place  in  Southern 
Italy.  They  soon  discovered  the  fallacy  of  wan 
dering  about  Europe  with  a  maid  and  a  quantity  of 
luggage,  and  they  both  hoped  that  under  the  clear 
sky  of  the  south  they  would  find  exactly  what  they 
wanted.  So  they  gravitated  to  Sorrento  and  hired 
a  villa  overhanging  the  sea,  and  Marcantonio  sug 
gested  vaguely  that  they  might  have  some  one  to 
stay  with  them  if  they  found  it  dull.  At  this 
Leonora  felt  injured.  The  idea  of  his  finding  life 
dull  in  her  company  ! 

"  How  can  you  possibly  suggest  such  a  thing  ?  " 
she  asked,  in  a  hurt  tone. 

"  Not  for  myself,  ma  chere"  said  Marcantonio, 
with  an  affectionate  smile.  "It  struck  me  that 
you  might  not  find  it  very  amusing.  I  could 
never  find-  it  dull  where  you  are,  ma  bien  aimee" 
•And  indeed  he  never  did.  Leonora  was  pacified, 
as  she  almost  always  was  when  he  was  particularly 
affectionate. 

"But,  of  course,"  he  continued,  "you  will  enjoy 


TO  LEEWARD.  53 

the  being  able  to  read  and  study  your  favorite 
books." 

"  I  never  want  to  read  them  now,"  said  Leonora, 
who  chanced  that  day  to  be  not  very  philosophi 
cally  disposed.  She  had  been  perusing  the  latest 
French  impossibility,  —  she  found  it  rather  amus 
ing  to  be  allowed  to  have  what  she  liked  now  that 
she  was  married. 

"  I  would  be  glad  if  you  never  read  any  more 
philosophy,"  said  Marcantonio,  unwisely  saying 
what  was  uppermost  in  his  thoughts. 

"  Really,  though,"  answered  Leonora,  "  I  know 
it  all  so  very  superficially  that  I  feel  I  must  go 
back  and  be  much  more  thorough.  I  think  I  will 
take  a  sound  course  of  Voltaire  and  Hegel,  and 
that  kind  of  thing,  this  summer." 

Her  husband  was  silent.  He  began  to  suspect 
his  wife  of  being  capable  of  an  occasional  contra 
diction  for  the  mere  love  of  it.  Besides,  he  saw  no 
particular  connection  between  the  two  authors  she 
named.  But  then  he  knew  very  little  about  them. 
He  looked  at  Leonora.  There  was  not  a  trace  of 
unpleasant  expression  in  her  face,  and  she  seemed 
to  have  merely  made  the  remark  in  the  air,  without 
the  least  intention  of  being  contradictory  or  cap 
tious.  He  liked  to  look  at  her,  she  was  so  fresh 
and  fair.  Neither  heat  nor  cold  seemed  to  touch 
her  delicate  white  skin,  —  her  hair  was  so  thick 
and  strong,  and  her  blue  eyes  so  bright.  She  was 
the  very  incarnation  of  life.  What  if  her  features 
were  not  quite  classic  in  proportion  ? 


54  TO  LEEWARD. 

"I  am  not  so  beautiful  as  Diana,"  she  said 
laughingly  one  day  to  Marcantonio,  "  but  I  am 
sure  I  am  much  more  alive  than  she  is."  He 
laughed  too,  well  pleased  at  the  distinction  drawn. 
He  was  glad  that  his  sister  should  be  thought  cold, 
and  he  believed  his  wife  loved  him.  He  kissed  her 
hand  tenderly. 

They  had  been  married  two  months  when  they 
came  to  stay  in  Sorrento.  It  is  a  beautiful  place. 
Perhaps  in  all  the  orange-scented  south  there  is 
none  more  perfect,  more  sweet  with  gardens  and 
soft  sea-breath,  more  rich  in  ancient  olive-groves, 
or  more  tenderly  nestled  in  the  breast  of  a  boun 
tiful  nature.  A  little  place  it  is,  backed  and 
flanked  by  the  volcanic  hills,  but  having  before  it 
the  glory  of  the  fairest  water  in  the  world.  Straight 
down  from  the  orange  gardens  the  cliffs  fall  to  the 
sea,  and  every  villa  and  village  has  a  descent, 
winding  through  caves  and  by  stairways  to  its  own 
small  sandy  cove,  where  the  boats  lie  in  the  sun 
through  the  summer's  noontide  heat,  to  shoot  out 
at  morning  and  evening  into  the  coolness  of  the 
breezy  bay.  Among  the  warm,  green  fruit  trees 
the  song-birds  have  their  nests,  and  about  the  eaves 
of  the  scattered  houses  the  swallows  wheel  and 
race  in  quick,  smooth  circles.  Far  along  through 
the  groves  echoes  the  ancient  song  of  the  southern 
peasant,  older  than  the  trees,  older  than  the  soil, 
older  than  poor  old  Pompeii  lying  off  there  in  the 
eternal  ashes  of  her  gorgeous  sins.  And  ever  the 
sapphire  sea  kisses  the  feet  of  the  cliffs  as  though 


TO  LEEWAttD.  55 

wooing  the  rocks  to  come  down,  and  plunge  in,  and 
taste  how  good  a  thing  it  is  to  be  cool  and  wet  all 
over. 

To  this  place  Marcantonio  and  his  wife  came  at 
the  beginning  of  July,  having  picked  up  numerous 
possessions  and  a  few  servants  in  Rome.  They 
both  had  a  taste  for  comfort,  though  they  enjoyed 
the  small  privations  of  travelling  for  a  time.  To 
luxurious  people  it  is  pleasant  to  be  uncomfortable 
when  the  fancy  takes  them,  in  order  that  they  may 
the  better  enjoy  the  tint  of  their  purple  and  the 
softness  of  their  fine  linen  by  the  contrast.  For 
contrast  is  the  magnifying  glass  of  the  senses. 

At  sunset  they  walked  side  by  side  in  their  ter 
raced  garden  overlooking  the  sea.  They  had  trav 
elled  all  night  and  had  rested  all  day  in  consequence, 
and  now  they  were  refreshed  and  alive  to  the  magic 
things  about  them. 

"How  green  it  is!"  said  Leonora,  stopping  to 
look  at  the  thick  trees. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Marcantonio,  "  it  is  very 
green."  He  was  thinking  of  something  else,  and 
Leonora's  very  natural  and  simple  remark  did  not 
divert  his  thoughts.  The  cook  had  arrived  with  a 
touch  of  the  fever,  and  he  was  debating  whether  to 
send  for  the  doctor  at  once  or  to  wait  till  the  next 
day.  For  he  was  very  good  to  his  servants,  and 
took  care  of  them.  But  Leonora  wanted  some 
thing  more  enthusiastic. 

"  But  it  is  so  very  fresh  and  green !  "  she  re 
peated.  "Do  you  not  see  how  lovely  it  all  is?" 
She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 


56  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  Oui,  clierie"  said  he,  getting  rid  of  the  cook 
by  an  effort,  "  and  green  is  the  color  of  hope." 
Then  it  struck  him  that  the  saying  was  rather  com 
monplace,  and  he  began  to  realize  what  she  wanted. 
"  It  is  a  perfect  fairyland,"  he  went  on,  "  and  we 
will  enjoy  it  as  long  as  we  please.  Are  you  fond 
of  sailing,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  all  things !  "  exclaimed  Leonora,  enthu 
siastically.  "  I  love  the  sea  and  the  beautiful  col 
ors,  and  everything  "  —  She  stopped  short  and 
put  her  arm  through  his  and  made  him  walk  again. 
She  was  conscious,  perhaps,  that  she  was  making 
an  effort,  —  why,  she  could  not  tell,  —  and  that  she 
had  not  much  to  say. 

"  Marcantoine  "  —  she  began.  They  spoke 
French  together,  though  she  knew  Italian  better. 
She  thought  his  name  long,  but  had  not  yet  de 
cided  how  to  abbreviate  it. 

"  Yes,  what  would  you  say,  my  dear  ?  "  he  asked 
pleasantly. 

"  I  think  I  could  —  no  —  Marcantoine,  now  that 
we  are  married,  are  you  quite  sure  that  you  love 
me  —  quite,  quite  ?  "  Marcantonio's  face  turned 
strangely  earnest  and  quiet.  He  looked  into  her 
eyes  as  he  answered. 

"  Yes,  my  very  dear  wife,  I  am  quite  sure.  And 
you,  are  you  sure,  Leonora  ?  " 

"  How  serious  you  are  !  "  she  exclaimed,  laugh 
ingly.  "  Well,  perhaps  I  am  not  so  sure  as  you 
are,  —  but  I  think  I  could."  Somehow  he  did  not 
smile ;  he  took  some  things  so  seriously. 


TO  LEEWARD.  57 

Honeymoon  conversation'-'  are  insignificant 
enough,  but  it  would  be  well  it  tliay  were  still  more 
so.  They  should  be  limited  oy  an  international 
law  to  the  phrases  contained  in  the  works  of  M. 
Ollendorff. 

"  Is  it  a  fine  day,  sir  ?  " 

"Yes,  madam,  it  is  a  very  fine  day,  but  the 
baker  has  the  green  hat  of  the  officer." 

"  Has  the  baker  also  the  red  cow  of  the  general's 
wife?" 

"  No,  madam,  the  baker  has  not  the  red  cow  of 
the  general's  wife,  but  the  undertaker  has  the  pen 
knife  of  the  aunt  of  the  good  butcher." 

It  would  be  hard  for  the  most  ill-disposed  couple 
to  quarrel  if  confined  to  this  simple  elegance  of 
dialectics,  where  truths  of  the  broadest  kind  are 
clothed  in  the  purest  and  most  energetic  words. 
Young  married  people  are  allowed  too  much  lati 
tude  when  they  are  turned  loose  upon  a  whole  lan 
guage  with  a  sort  of  standing  order  to  make  con 
versation.  When  they  have  exhausted  a  certain 
fund  of  stock  poetry  and  enthusiasm,  they  have 
very  little  to  fall  back  upon,  except  their  personal 
relation  to  each  other  ;  and  unless  they  are  equally 
serious  or  equally  frivolous,  the  discussion  of  such 
matters  is  apt  to  get  them  into  trouble. 

Like  most  Italians  Marcantonio  had  difficulty 
in  understanding  English  humor.  When  Leonora 
said  she  was  not  quite  sure  she  loved  him,  she  had 
meant  it  for  a  jest,  and  if  the  jest  had  a  deeper 
meaning  and  a  possibility  of  truth  for  herself,  that 


58  TO  LEEWARD. 

was  no  reason,  she  thought,  why  Marcantonio 
should  consider  it  no  jest  at  all.  She  was  some 
what  annoyed,  and  she  made  up  her  mind  that 
there  must  be  an  element  of  Philistinism  in  his 
character.  She  hated  and  feared  Philistines,  partly 
because  they  were  bores,  and  partly  because  she  had 
met  one  or  two  of  them  who  had  known  vastly  more 
than  she  did,  and  who  had  not  scrupled  to  show  it. 
But,  after  all,  how  could  Marcantonio  be  really  like 
them  ?  He  did  not  know  very  much,  nor  did  he  pre 
tend  to,  and  he  had  very  good  taste  and  was  alto 
gether  very  nice,  —  no,  he  was  not  a  Philistine  ;  he 
loved  her,  and  that  was  the  reason  he  was  serious. 
All  this  she  thought,  springing  from  one  idea  to 
another,  and  ending  by  drawing  her  arm  closer 
through  his  and  moving  along  the  terrace  by  his  side. 

The  sun  had  set  over  there  in  front  of  them,  and 
the  air  was  cool  and  purple  with  the  afterglow. 
They  stood  by  the  wall  and  looked  out  silently, 
without  an}^  further  effort  at  conversation.  Talk 
ing  had  been  a  failure,  probably  because  they  were 
tired,  and  for  a  brief  space  they  were  content  to 
watch  the  clouds,  and  to  listen  to  the  swift  rush  of 
the  swallows  and  the  faint,  soft  fall  of  the  small 
waves  on  the  sand  far  below  them.  There  they  were, 
linked  together,  for  better  for  worse,  to  meet  the 
joys  and  the  sorrows  of  life  hand  in  hand  ;  to  stand 
before  the  world  as  representatives  of  their  class, 
to  play  a  part  in  public,  and  in  their  homes  to  be 
all  in  all  to  each  other,  man  and  wife. 

Man  and  wife !     Ah  me  !  for  the  greatness  and 


TO   LEEWARD.  59 

the  littleness  of  the  bonds  those  names  stand  for ! 
Is  there  a  man  so  poor  and  thin-souled  in  the 
world  that  he  has  not  dreamed  of  calling  some 
woman  "  wife  "  ?  Is  there  any  wretch  so  mean  and 
miserable  in  spirit  that  he  has  not  looked  on  some 
maiden  and  said,  "  I  would  marry  her,  if  I  could  "  ? 
Or  has  any  woman,  beautiful  or  ugly,  fair  or  dark, 
straight  or  crooked,  not  thought  once,  and  more 
than  once,  that  a  man  would  come,  and  love  her, 
and  take  her,  and  marry  her  ? 

But  have  all  the  woes  and  ills  of  humanity, 
massed  together  and  piled  up  in  their  dismal 
weight,  ever  called  forth  one  half  the  sorrow  that 
has  ensued  from  this  wedding  and  being  wedded  ? 
Alas  and  alack  for  the  tears  that  have  fallen  thick 
and  fast  from  women's  eyes,  —  and  for  the  tears 
that  have  stood  and  burned  in  the  eyes  of  strong 
men,  good  and  bad !  Who  shall  count  them,  or 
who  shall  measure  them  ?  Who  shall  ever  tell  the 
griefs  that  are  beyond  words,  the  sorrows  that  all 
earthly  language,  wielded  by  all  earthly  genius, 
cannot  tell?  Will  any  man  make  bold  to  say  that 
he  can  describe  what  pain  his  neighbor  feels  ?  He 
may  tell  us  what  he  does,  for  he  can  see  it ;  he 
may  tell  us  what  he  thinks,  for  perhaps  he  can 
guess  it ;  but  he  cannot  tell  us  what  he  suffers. 
The  most  he  can  do  is  to  strike  the  sad  minor 
chord  that  in  every  man's  heart  leads  to  a  dirge 
and  a  death-song  of  his  own. 

A  man  who  tries  to  tell  of  great  suffering  is 
rebuked.     "No  human  creature,"  says  the  critic, 


60  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  could  suffer  as  this  man  describes,  and  live. 
There  can  therefore  be  no  such  suffering  in  the 
world."  But  does  any  critic  or  reader  or  other  in 
telligent  person  say,  when  he  reads  about  great 
happiness,  "  This  joy  is  too  much  for  humanity ; 
there  is  no  such  joy  in  the  world  "  ? 

We  shrink  from  suffering,  in  others  as  in  our 
selves,  and  we  turn  to  happiness  and  cannot  get 
enough  of  it,  so  that  however  the  tale  ends,  we 
would  have  made  it  end  yet  more  joyfully ;  for  so 
would  we  do  with  our  own  lives  if  we  could.  The 
strength  of  half  mankind  is  spent  in  trying  to 
remedy  mistakes  made  at  the  outset,  and  I  suppose 
that  there  is  not  one  man  in  ten  millions  who  is 
not  striving  to  make  himself  happier,  in  his  own 
fashion.  A  man  is  only  happy  when  he  believes 
himself  to  be  so,  in  whatever  way  the  proposition 
is  turned,  and  no  man  believes  himself  so  happy 
but  what  he  might  be  happier. 

Marcantonio  Carantoni  was  in  just  such  a  posi 
tion.  He  was  more  than  contented,  for  he  looked 
forward  to  much  in  the  future  that  he  had  not  yet 
attained,  and  he  looked  forward  to  it  with  cer 
tainty.  His  wife  Leonora  was  trying  hard  to  be 
as  happy  as  he,  but  there  had  been  a  doubt  —  a 
cruel,  hot  little  doubt  —  in  her  soul  from  the  first. 
She  had  deceived  herself  —  with  the  best  intention 
—  until  she  could  hardly  ever  be  sure  that  what 
she  felt  was  genuine.  She  had  asked  questions  of 
her  heart  until  it  was  weary  of  answering  them, 
and  would  as  soon  speak  false  to  her  as  true. 

And  here  ends  the  prologue  of  this  story. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  FEW  days  after  the  arrival  of  the  Carantoni 
establishment  in  Sorrento,  Leonora  was  sitting 
alone  on  a  terrace  of  the  villa  with  a  book  and  a 
great  variety  of  small  possessions  in  the  way  of 
needlework,  shawls,  cushions,  flowers,  parasols,  fans, 
and  a  white  cat.  Marcantonio  was  gone  to  the  town 
alone,  intending  to  buy  more  possessions ;  for  Sor 
rento  is  famous  for  its  silk-weaving  and  its  ex 
quisite  carved  work  of  olive  wood,  and  Leonora 
loved  knickknacks. 

"  I  would  give  anything  in  the  world  for  a  sen 
sation,"  she  thought,  as  she  looked  out  over  the 
sea. 

It  was  towards  evening,  and  the  water  was  as 
smooth  as  glass  and  tinged  with  red. 

Marcantonio  was  right  after  all.  It  was  very 
dull  in  Sorrento,  with  no  one  but  one's  husband  to 
speak  to,  —  and  he  had  made  such  a  fuss  about  the 
cook's  illness.  Of  course,  it  was  very  beautiful  and 
all  that ;  but  life  with  the  beauties  of  nature  is  so 
very  tiresome  after  a  time.  She  longed  for  some 
of  her  friends,  —  even  her  mother,  she  thought, 
would  be  a  relief.  But  no  on^  had  c<*.ned,  except 
ing  some  very  proper  people  of  the  Roman  set, 
who  all  had  gout  and  rheumatfsm  and  a  dictionary- 


62  TO  LEEWARD. 

ful  of  diseases,  and  were  taking  sulphur  baths  at 
Castellamare. 

She  was  wishing  with  all  her  might  that  some 
amusing  person  would  call,  when,  as  though  in  an 
swer  to  her  thoughts,  a  servant  brought  her  a  card. 
Then  she  yawned  slightly,  supposing  it  to  be  some 
toothless  old  princess  of  Rome  or  some  other  wea 
risome  bore.  But  as  she  looked  at  the  name,  — 
"  Mr.  Julius  Batiscombe,"  —  she  gave  a  little  start 
and  pulled  and  touched  her  lace  and  ribbons,  and 
smoothed  her  thick  hair  with  her  hand,  and  said 
she  would  receive. 

Mr.  Julius  Batiscombe  was  a  man  of  five  and 
thirty  years  of  age,  and  a  person  who  would  be 
sure  to  attract  attention  anywhere.  He  was  tall 
and  looked  strong,  but  he  trod  as  lightly  as  a  wo 
man  ;  none  of  his  movements  were  clumsy  or  awk 
ward.  Not  that  he  stepped  daintily  or  affected  any 
feminine  grace  of  movement ;  there  was  something 
in  his  build  and  proportion  that  made  it  always 
seem  easy  for  him  to  move,  as  though  his  strength 
were  perfectly  under  control. 

People  were  divided  in  opinion  concerning  his 
appearance.  Some  said  he  was  handsome  and  some 
said  he  was  coarse.  Some  said  he  was  refined  and 
some  said  he  looked  ill-tempered.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  he  had  a  rather  small  head,  set  upon  a  strong 
neck.  His  nose  was  large  and  broad,  and  de 
cidedly  aquiline,  and  he  had  a  remarkably  clean- 
cut  and  determined  jaw.  His  mouth  was  compara 
tively  too  small  for  his  face,  but  well  shaped  and 


TO  LEEWARD.  63 

well  closed,  shaded  by  a  black  moustache  of  very 
moderate  dimensions.  His  blue  eyes  were  set  deep 
in  his  head  and  far  apart.  Of  hair  he  had  an 
unusual  quantity,  of  a  blue  black  color,  and  he 
brushed  it  carefully.  A  single  deep  line  scored  its 
mark  across,  just  above  his  brows.  He  had  a  way 
of  looking  at  things,  that  hid  the  half  of  the  iris 
under  the  upper  lid,  showing  the  white  of  the  eye 
a  little  beneath  the  colored  portion.  His  complex 
ion  was  of  that  brilliant  kind  which  sometimes 
goes  with  black  hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  is  known 
as  especially  a  characteristic  of  the  Irish  race. 
Moreover  he  was  noticeably  well  dressed,  in  a 
broad,  neat  fashion  of  quiet  color,  and  he  wore  no 
jewelry  nor  ornament  except  an  old  seal  ring. 

Opinions  varied  almost  as  much  about  Mr.  Julius 
Batiscombe's  character  and  reputation  as  about  his 
claims  to  be  thought  good-looking.  He  had  no  in 
timate  friends,  or  was  supposed  to  have  none ;  and 
he  never  answered  many  questions,  because  he  asked 
none.  It  was  known  that  he  was  an  Englishman 

O 

or  an  Irishman  by  birth,  but  that  he  had  never 
lived  long  in  his  own  country,  whereas  he  seemed 
to  have  lived  everywhere  else  under  the  sun. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  came  to-day,  Mr.  Batiscombe," 
said  Leonora  after  he  was  seated,  and  looking  at 
him  rather  curiously.  He  was  no  other  than  the 
man  who  had  stood  in  the  doorway  at  the  ball  when 
Marcantonio  offered  himself  to  her.  She  knew 
him  as  well  as  she  knew  most  of  the  stray  foreign 
ers  who  from  time  to  time  frequent  Roman  society0 


64  TO  LEEWARD. 

He  had  been  in  Rome  all  that  winter,  and  she  had 
met  him  two  years  before,  when  she  first  went  out. 
He  interested  her,  however,  by  a  certain  reserve  of 
manner  and  by  an  air  of  "  having  a  *story  about 
him"  — as  young  ladies  put  it  — which  was  un 
usual. 

"I  am  very  fortunate,"  he  answered,  with  a 
slight  inclination  and  a  polite  smile.  "  I  called  en 
tirely  at  random.  Somebody  said  you  were  com 
ing  here,  and  so  I  came  to  see  if  you  had  arrived." 
"  Yes,"  said  Leonora,  "  we  have  been  here  sev 
eral  days,  with  all  sorts  of  troubles  on  our  hands. 
It  is  such  very  hard  work  to  settle  down,  you 
know." 

"  What  has  been  the  trouble  ?  "  inquired  Mr. 
Batiscombe  glancing  at  the  evidences  of  comfort 
that  were  scattered  about. 

«Oh  —  it  is  the  cook,"  said  Leonora  with  a  lit 
tle  laugh  ;  she  was  just  beginning  to  feel  the  nov 
elty  of  housekeeping,  and  she  laughed  at  the  men 
tion  of  the  cook,  as  though  the  idea  amused  her. 
"  He  has  had  a  little  fever,  and  my  husband  was 
dreadfully  anxious  about  him.  But  he  is  quite 
recovered." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Mr.  Batiscombe.  "  It 
must  be  a  terrible  bore  to  have  one's  cook  ill.  Did 
you  get  anything  to  eat  in  the  mean  while?"  And 
so  forth,  and  so  on,  through  a  few  dozen  inanities. 
He  would  not  make  an  original  remark,  being  quite 
sure  that  Leonora  would  ultimately  turn  the  con 
versation  to  some  congenial  subject. 


TO  LEEWARD.  65 

"  Shall  you  be  in  Rome  next  winter,  Mr.  Batis- 
combe  ?  "  she  asked  at  length  rather  suddenly. 

"  It  is  rather  doubtful,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  I 
am  a  great  wanderer,  you  know,  marchesa.  I  can 
never  say  with  any  certainty  where  I  shall  be  next." 
He  was  looking  at  her  and  thinking  what  a  splen 
did  living  thing  she  was,  with  the  evening  sun  on 
her  red  hair.  That  was  all  he  thought,  but  it  gave 
him  pleasure,  and  his  glance  lingered  contentedly 
upon  her,  as  upon  a  picture  or  a  statue.  He  sup 
posed  from  her  remark  that  she  wanted  him  to  talk 
about  himself,  and  he  was  willing  to  please  her ;  but 
he  was  in  no  hurry,  for  he  feared  she  would  move 
and  show  herself  in  a  less  favorable  light.  She 
was  so  good  to  look  at,  it  was  worth  a  visit  to  see 
her  ;  and  yet  she  was  not  a  great  beauty. 

"  I  was  thinking  a  little  of.  going  to  the  East," 
he  added  presently. 

"  But  you  have  been  there,  have  you  not  ?  " 

"  Not  for  a  long  time  ;  and  it  will  bear  revisiting 
often,  —  very  often.  I  mean  to  go  there  and  study 
again  as  I  did  years  ago.  You  have  no  idea  how 
interesting  those  things  are."  Mr.  Batiscombe 
looked  thoughtfully  out  towards  the  sea. 

"What  are  those  things,  as  you  call  them?" 
asked  Leonora. 

4'  What  many  people  call  the  '  wisdom  of  the 
East.'  They  make  us  the  compliment  of  implying 
that  there  is  a  '  wisdom  of  the  Wrest '  also,  which 
seems  unlikely." 

"  Dear  me,  what  a  sweeping  remark !  "  exclaimed 
Leonora,  rather  startled. 


66  TO  LEEWARD. 

» 

"  I  will  prove  it,"  said  Mr.  Batiscombe.  "  It 
seems  to  me  that  in  the  West  no  two  wise  men 
think  alike ;  whereas  in  the  East  no  two  wise  men 
think  differently.  Is  not  that  a  kind  of  proof  ?  " 

"  Not  a  very  valuable  proof,"  said  the  marchesa. 
"  But  I  do  not  know  much  about  it." 

"  You  have  the  reputation  of  knowing  more  about 
it  than  most  people,  marchesa,"  answered  Batis 
combe.  "  I  have  been  told  that  you  know  every 
thing  "  Leonora  blushed  very  slightly. 

"  What  nonsense  !  "  said  she;  "  I  might  say  the 
same  of  you." 

"  I  observe  that  you  do  not,  however,"  said  he, 
laughing. 

".I  never  flatter  any  one,"  she  answered  calmly. 

"  Obviously,  there  is  but  one  thing  for  me  to  say," 
said  Batiscombe  still  smiling. 

"What  is  that?"" 

"  That  no  one  could  possibly  flatter  you,  mar 
chesa,  —  since  the  truth  is  no  flattery." 

"  No,  but  imitation  is,"  retorted  Leonora,  well 
pleased  at  having  got  a  small  advantage  of  him. 

"  Very  good,"  said  Batiscombe  ;  "  but  do  you 
know  who  said  so  ?  " 

"  Shakespeare  "  -  began  Leonora,  but  stopped. 
"No  —  I  cannot  tell." 

"  A  man  called  Colton  said  it.  He  wrote  a  book 
called  '  Lacon,'  containing  innumerable  reflections 
on  things  in  general.  He  was  a  wandering  sea- 
parson  and  wrote  books  of  travels.  He  died  of  a 
complication  of  nautical  and  religious  disorders — 


TO  LEEWARD.  67 

he  confused  the  spirituous  with  the  spiritual  —  but 
he  was  a  wise  man  for  all  that." 

"  I  suppose  you  remembered  all  that  for  the  sake 
of  showing  that  you  really  know  everything,"  said 
Leonora,  looking  up  from  behind  the  fan  that 
shaded  her  eyes.  The  last  rays  of  the  sun  shone 
horizontally  across  the  terrace.  The  movement  she 
made  caused  the  book  she  had  been  reading  to  slip 
from  her  lap.  With  a  quick  movement  Batiscombe 
caught  it  before  it  fell  and  laid  it  on  the  little  ta 
ble.  Leonora  noticed  the  action  and  admired  the 
ease  of  it.  She  was  altogether  disposed  to  admire 
the  man,  though  she  would  have  confessed  that  his 
conversation  hitherto  had  not  been  at  all  remark 
able.  Nevertheless  there  was  something  in  his 
manner  that  attracted  her.  He  was  quick  and 
gentle,  and  yet  he  looked  so  big  and  strong. 

"  Thanks,"  she  said.  "  By  the  bye,  are  you  going 
to  spend  the  summer  here,  or  are  you  only  pass- 
ing?" 

"  I  am  only  passing  —  literally  passing,  for  I 
have  come  from  the  north,  and  am  going  south 
ward.  I  believe  I  am  doing  rather  an  original 
thing." 

"  You  are  generally  supposed  to  be  always  doing 
original  things,"  said  Leonora. 

"  At  all  events  I  am  never  bored,"  he  answered, 
"  which  cannot  be  said  of  most  people.  At  present 
I  am  going  round  Italy  in  an  open  boat.  It  is 
great  fun.  I  started  from  Nice  six  weeks  ago." 

"  How  delightful !     I  should  like  it  immensely ! " 


68  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  sailing,  march  esa  ?  " 

"  I  enjoy  it  of  all  things,"  she  answered.  In 
spite  of  her  remark  to  the  same  effect  made  to 
Marcantonio  on  the  day  of  their  arrival,  she  had 
not  yet  been  on  the  water.  He  had  been  so  anxious 
about  the  cook. 

"  There  is  a  man-of-war  to  be  launched  at  Cas- 
tellamare  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  said  Batis- 
combe.  "  May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  taking  you 
over  in  my  boat  ?  " 

•    At  this  moment  Marcantoiiio   appeared   at  the 
extremity  of  the  terrace  and  came  towards  them. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  ?  "  asked  Batiscombe 
quickly,  in  a  lower  voice.  "If  so  I  will  propose 
it  at  once."  Leonora  nodded,  and  her  husband 
approached. 

"  Marcantonio,"  she  said,  "  you  know  Monsieur 
Batiscombe  ?  " 

"Mais  certaincment"  cried  Marcantonio  cor 
dially,  and  the  two  men  shook  hands.  Batiscombe 
was  at  least  as  much  at  home  in  French  as  his  host, 
and  immediately  attacked  the  subject. 

"I  came  to  propose  to  Madame  la  Marquise," 
he  said,  "  that  you  should  come  over  to  Castel- 
lamare  in  my  boat  the  day  after  to-morrow  to  see 
the  launch.  I  trust  the  plan  meets  your  ap 
proval  ?  :' 

Marcantonio  turned  to  his  wife  to  inquire.  She 
nodded  to  him  ;  he  nodded  to  her. 

"  We  should  be  charmed,"  said  he. 

And  so  the  matter  was  arranged  j  they  agreed 


TO  LEEWARD.  69 

about  the  hour,  and  Leonora  said  she  would  bring 
the  lunch. 

"  Yes,"  said  Marcantonio,  "  I  am  glad  to  say  the 
cook  "  —  At  this  point  Mr.  Batiscombe  rose  to 
go,  and  th^ remark  about  the  cook's  health  was  lost 
in  the  stir.  Batiscombe  bowed,  smiled,  bowed 
again,  and  moved  smoothly  away  across  the  ter 
race,  disappearing  with  a  final  inclination,  and  a 
sweep  of  his  straw  hat. 

"  He  walks  like  a  cat,  that  gentleman,"  said 
Marcantonio  as  he  sat  himself  down  beside  his 
wife. 

"  He  is  charming,"  said  Leonora.  "  He  has 
been  so  amusing."  She  looked  at  her  husband 
furtively  to  see  how  he  took  the  remark. 

"Perhaps,"  thought  she,  "he  is  one  of  those 
men  who  have  to  be  managed  by  being  made 
jealous.  I  have  read  about  them  in  novels." 

But  Marcantonio  was  very  glad  that  she  had 
been  amused,  and  he  merely  smiled  pleasantly  and 
said  so.  It  never  entered  his  head  to  suppose  that 
Leonora  was  not  satisfied  with  his  show  of  affec 
tion,  because  he  knew  in  himself  that  his  love  was 
perfectly  real.  There  is  a  little  vanity  in  such  men 
as  Marcantonio,  together  with  a  great  deal  of  hon 
esty.  Their  vanity  makes  them  quite  sure  that  the 
woman  they  love  is  satisfied,  and  their  honesty 
makes  them  think  the  woman  would  speak  out  if 
she  were  not,  just  as  they  themselves  would  do. 

Leonora  had  vanity  enough  of  a  certain  kind, 
but  it  was  not  personal.  She  doubted  her  own 


0  TO  LEEWARD. 

powers  and  gifts  more  than  she  need  have  done, 
and  there  was  enough  uncertainty  about  her  own 
affection  to  make  her  uncertain  of  her  husband's 
love.  In  the  mean  while  she  was  bored  since  Mr. 
Batiscombe  had  gone,  and  she  wished  M^rcantonio 
would  talk  and  amuse  her.  But  when  he  did  begin 
to  say  something  it  was  about  local  Koman  politics, 
and  she  understood  nothing  about  that  sort  of 
thing.  She  longed  more  and  more  for  "  a  sensa 
tion."  It  would  probably  be  different  to-morrow, 
for  her  moods  seldom  lasted  long.  But  this  even 
ing  it  was  intolerable.  She  made'  the  most  absent- 
minded  answers  to  her  husband's  remarks,  and 
seemed  so  impatient  that  he  suggested  she  must  be 
tired  and  had  better  go  to  bed. 

"  But  I  am  not  tired  at  all  —  on  the  contrary," 
she  objected.  "  There  is  nothing  to  tire  me  here, 
—  a  little  driving,  a  great  deal  of  sitting  on  the  ter 
race,  a  great  deal  of  reading,  and  very  little  con 
versation  "  — 

"  Yery  little  conversation  !  "  exclaimed  Marcan- 
tonio.  "Mais,  ma  chere,  here  it  is  two  hours  we 
have  been  talking,  without  counting  the  visit  of  the 
gentleman  who  walks  like  a  cat  —  Bat —  Botis — 
I  cannot  say  his  name,  but  I  know  him." 

"  Ah,  yes  —  Mr.  Batiscombe.  Yes,"  said  Leo 
nora  languidly,  "  he  was  very  amusing.  He  talked 
about  all  sorts  of  things." 

"  Shall  we  ask  him  to  pass  a  few  days  with  us  ? 
I  would  be  very  glad  if  you  like  him." 

Marcantonio  was  really  glad  to  do  anything  his 


TO  LEEWARD.  71 

wife  might  wish.  Leonora  was  touched.  He  was 
sitting  beside  her,  and  she  put  her  arms  round  his 
neck  and  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"You  are  so  good,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Oh,  I  do  not  want  anybody  else  here  at  all.  I 
only  want  you  —  but  all  of  you  —  and  I  feel  as 
though  I  had  not  all  yet."  For  the  moment  she 
really  loved  him.  He  gently  smoothed  her  hair 
with  his  delicate,  olive-tinted  hand. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Julius  Batiscombe  had  gone  to 
his  hotel,  and,  having  eaten  his  dinner,  was  sitting 
on  the  tiled  terrace  over  the  sea,  with  a  cup  of 
coffee  at  his  elbow,  and  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth. 
There  were  lamps  on  the  terrace,  and  there  was 
starlight  on  the  water,  and  Mr.  Batiscombe  was 
alone  at  his  small  table. 

"  I  wish  I  had  not  gone  there.  I  wish  I  had  not 
asked  them  to  go  to  Castellamare.  I  wish  I  were 
at  sea  in  my  boat."  He  said  these  things  over  and 
over  to  himself,  and  now  and  again  he  smiled  a 
little  scornfully,  and  sipped  his  coffee. 

Julius  Batiscombe  was  generally  in  trouble.  He 
was  a  strong  man  in  all  respects  save  one.  He  had 
conquered  many  difficulties  in  his  life,  and  by 
sheer  determination  had  turned  evil  fortune  into 
good,  winning  himself  a  name  and  a  position,  and 
such  a  proportion  of  wealth  as  he  needed.  Of 
good  family,  and  brought  up  in  luxury  and  refine 
ment,  he  had  been  left  at  twenty  years  of  age  with 
out  parents,  without  much  money,  and  without  a 
profession.  He  knew  some  half  dozen  languages, 


72  TO  LEEWARD. 

ancient  and  modern,  and  he  had  a  certain  prema 
ture  knowledge  of  the  world.  But  that  was  his 
whole  stock-in-trade  excepting  an  indomitable  will 
and  perseverance,  combined  with  exceedingly  good 
health,  and  a  great  desire  for  the  luxuries  of  life. 
He  had  lived  in  all  sorts  of  ways  and  places,  get 
ting  his  pen  under  control  by  endless  literary  hack 
work.  By  and  by  he  tried  his  hand  at  journalism, 
and  was  successively  addicted  to  three  or  four 
papers,  published  in  three  or  four  languages  in 
three  or  four  countries.  Last  of  all  he  wrote  a 
book  which  unexpectedly  succeeded.  Since  then 
the  aspect  of  life  had  changed  for  him,  and  though 
he  still  wandered,  from  force  of  habit,  so  to  say,  he 
no  longer  wandered  in  search  of  a  fortune.  A  pen 
and  a  few  sheets  of  paper  can  be  got  anywhere, 
and  Julius  Batiscombe  set  up  his  itinerary  literary 
forge  wherever  'it  best  pleased  him  to  work.  He 
had  fought  with  ill-luck,  and  had  conquered  it,  and 
now  he  felt  the  confidence  of  a  man  who  has  swum 
through  rough  water  and  feels  at  last  the  smooth, 
clean  sand  beneath  his  feet.  His  success  had  not 
turned  his  head  in  the  least ;  he  was  too  much  of 
an  artist  for  that,  striving  always  in  his  work  to 
attain  something  that  ever  seemed  to  escape  him. 
But  he  felt  now  that  he  might  some  day  get  nearer 
to  what  he  aimed  at,  and  there  were  moments,  brief 
moments,  of  genuine  happiness,  when  he  believed 
that  there  was  wrought  by  his  pen  some  stroke  of 
worth  that  should  not  perish.  Ten  minutes  later 
he  was  dissatisfied  with  it  all,  and  collected  his 


TO  LEEWARD.  73 

strength  for  a  new  effort,  still  hoping,  and  striving, 
and  laboring  on,  with  his  whole  soul  in  his  work. 

Strong  in  body  and  strong  in  determination,  he 
was  yet  very  weak  in  one  respect.  He  was  eter 
nally  falling  in  love,  everlastingly  throwing  himself 
at  the  feet  of  some  woman  and  making  mischief 
that  he  afterwards  bitterly  regretted.  It  seemed 
as  though  it  were  impossible  for  him  to  live  six 
months  without  some  affair  of  a  more  or  less  serious 
character.  It  made  no  difference  whether  he  wan 
dered  off  into  the  recesses  of  the  Italian  mountains, 
or  went  into  hermitage  in  the  Black  Forest,  or 
steamed  and  sweltered  under  a  tropical  sun ;  there 
was  always  a  feminine  element  at  hand  to  make 
trouble  for  him. 

It  was  not  only  the  universal  woman  calling  to 
him  to  follow,  it  was  the  universal  woman  seizing 
him  and  carrying  him  away  by  main  force.  For  it 
was  no  matter  of  inclination.  He  struggled  hard 
enough  to  deserve  victory,  but  without  any  percep 
tible  result. 

What  gave  him  most  pain  was  the  dreary  con 
sciousness  of  his  own  insincerity  in  his  love-making, 
the  consciousness  that  came  to  him  after  the  affair 
was  over.  While  it  lasted  he  was  carried  away 
and  blinded  by  a  sort  of  madness  that  took  posses 
sion  of  him  and  allowed  him  no  time  for  thought. 
But  when  it  was  over  he  remembered,  bitterly 
enough,  how  untrue  it  had  all  been,  to  himself  and 
to  the  one  woman  whom  he  had  loved,  and  whom, 
down  in  the  depths  of  his  turbulent  heart,  he  loved 


74  TO  LEEWARD. 

still.  His  other  loves  were  like  horrible  creations 
of  black  magic,  bodies  with  no  soul,  when  he  looked 
back  on  them.  And  yet  while  they  lasted  they 
seemed  to  him  real,  and  high,  and  noble. 

At  first  he  fought  against  every  new  inclination, 
and  cursed  his  folly  in  advance ;  and  sometimes  he 
conquered,  but  not  always.  If  once  the  fatal  point 
were  passed  there  was  no  salvation,  for  then  he  de 
ceived  himself  and  the  deception  was  complete.  It 
was  no  wonder  people  thought  so  differently  about 
him.  He  had  been  known  to  do  brave  and  gener 
ous  things,  and  things  that  showed  the  utmost  del 
icacy  of  feeling  and  courtesy  of  temper;  and  he 
had  been  known  to  act  with  a  sheer,  massive,  self 
ish  disregard  of  other  people,  that  made  cynics 
look  grave  and  mild-eyed  society  idiots  stare  with 
horror.  The  fact  was  that  Julius  Batiscombe  in 
love  was  one  person,  and  Julius  Batiscombe  out  of 
love,  repentant  and  trying  to  make  up  to  the  world 
for  the  mischief  he  had  done,  was  quite  another ; 
and  he  knew  it  himself.  He  was  perfectly  conscious 
of  his  own  duality,  and  liked  the  one  state,  —  the 
state  of  no  love,  —  and  he  loathed  and  detested  the 
other  both  before  and  after. 

And  now  he  sat  over  his  coffee,  and  the  prophetic 
warning  of  his  soul  told  him  that  he  was  in  danger, 
so  that  he  was  angry  at  himself  and  feared  the 
future.  He  had  known  Miss  Carnethy.  as  has  been 
said,  for  some  time,  and  had  danced  with  her  and 
sat  beside  her  at  dinner  more  than  once,  without 
giving  her  a  thought;  he  therefore  had  found  it 


TO  LEEWARD.  75 

perfectly  natural  to  call  when  he  discovered  that 
she  was  at  Sorrento.  But  his  impression  after  his 
visit  was  very  different.  The  Marchesa  Carantoni 
was  not  Miss  Carnethy  at  all. 

She  had  looked  so  magnificent  as  she  sat  in  the 
evening  sunshine,  and  he  had  gazed  contentedly  at 
her  with  a  sense  of  artistic  satisfaction,  thinking 
no  evil.  But  now  he  could  think  of  nothing  else. 
The  sun  seemed  to  rise  again  out  of  the  dark  sea, 
turning  back  on  its  course  till  it  was  jjist  above  the 
horizon,  with  a  warm  golden  light ;  by  his  side  sat 
the  figure  of  a  woman  with  glorious  red  hair,  and 
he  was  speaking  to  her  ;  the  whole  scene  was  pres 
ent  to  him  as  he  sat  there,  and  he  knew  very  well 
what  it  was  that  he  felt.  Why  had  he  not  known 
it  at  first?  He  would  surely  have  had  the  sense 
not  to  propose  such  a  thing  as  a  day  together.  "  A 
day  together  "  had  so  often  entailed  so  much  mis 
ery. 

Nevertheless  he  would  not  invent  an  excuse,  nor 
go  away  suddenly.  It  would  be  quite  possible,  he 
knew,  and  perhaps  also  he  knew  in  his  heart  that 
it  would  be  altogether  right.  But  it  seemed  so  un- 
courteous,  he  was  really  anxious  to  see  the  launch 
of  the  great  ship  and  —  and  —  he  would  not  be 
such  a  fool  as  to  fancy  he  could  not  look  at  a 
woman  without  falling  in  love  with  her  on  the  spot. 
At  his  age !  Five  and  thirty  —  he  seemed  so  old 
when  he  thought  of  all  he  had  done  in  that  time. 
No.  He  would  not  only  go  with  them,  but  he 
would  be  as  agreeable  as  he  could,  if  only  to  show 


76  TO  LEEWARD. 

himself  that  he  was  at  last  above  that  kind  of 
thing. 

Some  human  hearts  are  like  a  great  ship  that 
has  no  anchor,  nor  any  means  of  making  fast  to 
moorings.  The  brave  vessel  sails  through  the 
stormy  ocean,  straining  and  struggling  fiercely,  till 
she  lies  at  last  within  a  fair  harbor.  But  she  has 
no  anchor,  and  by  and  by  the  soft,  smooth  tide 
washes  her  out  to  sea,  so  gently  and  cruelly,  out 
among  the  crests  and  the  squalls  and  the  rushing 
currents,  ancf  she  must  fain  beat  to  windward  again 
or  perish  on  the  grim  lee  shore. 

Julius  Batiscombe  went  to  bed  that  night  know 
ing  that  he  was  adrift,  and  yet  denying  it  to  him 
self  ;  knowing  that  in  a  month,  a  week  perhaps,  he 
would  be  in  trouble  —  in  love  —  pah !  how  he  hated 
the  idea ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DURING  the  time  that  elapsed  between  Mr.  Bat- 
iscombe's  visit  and  the  expedition  to  see  the  launch, 
Leonora  had  an  access  of  the  religious  humor. 
The  little  scene  with  her  husband  had  made  a  deep 
impression  on  her  mind,  and  as  was  usual  when  she 
received  impressions,  she  tried  to  explain  it  and  un 
derstand  it  and  reason  about  it,  until  there  was  lit 
tle  of  it  left.  That  is  generally  the  way  with  those 
people  who  make  a  study  of  themselves  ;  when  they 
have  a  good  thought  or  a  good  impulse,  they  dis 
sect  the  life  out  of  it  and  crow  over  the  empty  shell. 

It  was  clear,  thought  Leonora,  that  the  sudden 
outburst  of  affection  which  made  her  tell  her  hus 
band  that  she  wanted  "  all  of  him  "  was  the  result 
of  some  sensation  of  dissatisfaction,  of  some  unful 
filled  necessity  for  a  greater  sympathy.  But,  if  at 
the  very  beginning  she  had  not  the  key  to  his  heart, 
if  he  did  not  wholly  love  her  now,  it  was  clear 
that  he  never  would  at  all.  Why  was  it  clear? 
Oh  !  never  mind  the  "  why,"  —  it  was  quite  clear. 
Moreover,  if  he  could  never  love  her  wholly  as  she 
wished  and  desired,  she  was  manifestly  a  misunder 
stood  woman,  a  most  unhappy  wife,  a  condemned 
existence,  —  loving  and  not  being  loved  in  re 
turn.  And  he,  the  heartless  wretch,  was  anxious 


78  TO  LEEWARD. 

about  the  cook  !  Good  heavens  !  the  cook  —  when 
his  wife's  happiness  was  in  danger  !  In  this 
frame  of  mind  there  was  evidently  nothing  more 
appropriate  for  her  to  do  than  to  take  a  prayer- 
book  and  to  hide  her  face  in  a  veil,  and  slip  away 
to  the  little  church  on  the  road,  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  house.  For  a  wrecked  existence,  thought 
Leonora,  there  is  no  refuge  like  the  Church.  She 
was  not  a  Catholic,  but  that  made  no  difference ; 
in  great  distress  like  this,  she  could  very  well  be 
comforted  by  any  kind  of  religion  short  of  her 
father's,  which  latter,  to  her  exalted  view,  consisted 
of  four  walls  and  a  bucket  of  whitewash,  seasoned 
with  the  Rev.  Dr.  McSnivel's  discourses  and  an 
occasional  psalm-tune. 

What  she  could  not  see,  what  was  really  at  the 
bottom  of  the  small  tempest  she  rashly  whirled  up 
in  her  over-sensitive  soul,  was  her  own  disillusion. 
She  had  deceived  herself  into  believing  that  she 
loved  her  husband,  and  the  deception  had  cost  her 
an  effort.  She  was  beginning  to  realize  that  the 
time  was  at  hand  when  she  might  strive  in  vain  to 
believe  in  her  own  sincerity,  when  her  heart  would 
not  submit  to  any  further  equivocation,  and  when 
she  would  know  in  earnest  what  hollowness  and 
weariness  meant.  As  yet  this  was  half  uncon 
scious,  for  it  seemed  so  easy  to  make  herself  the 
injured  party. 

Poor  Marcantonio  was  not  to  blame.  He  was 
the  happiest  of  mortals,  and  went  calmly  on  his 
way,  doubting  nothing  and  thinking  that  he  was  of 
all  mortal  men  the  most  supremely  fortunate. 


TO  LEEWARD.  79 

Meanwhile  Leonora  kneeled  in  the  roug-h  little 

O 

church,  solacing  herself  with  the  catalogue  of  those 
ills  she  thought  she  was  suffering.  The  stones 
were  hard ;  there  was  a  wretched  little  knot  of 
country  people,  squalid  and  ill-savored,  who  stared 
at  the  great*  lady  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  on 
with  their  rosaries.  A  dirty  little  boy  with  a  cane 
twenty  feet  long  was  poking  a  taper  about  and 
lighting  lamps,  and  he  dropped  some  of  the  wax 
on  Leonora's  gown.  But  she  never  shrank  or 
looked  annoyed. 

"All  these  things  are  very  delightful,"  she  said 
to  herself,  "  if  you  only  consider  them  as  mortifi 
cations  of  the  flesh."  She  remembered  how  often 
just  such  little  annoyances  had  sent  her  out  of 
other  churches  disgusted  and  declaring  that  re 
ligion  was  a  vain  and  hollow  thing ;  and  now,  be 
cause  she  could  bear  with  them  and  was  not  angry 
she  felt  quite  sure  it  was  genuine. 

"Yes,"  said  she  piously,  as,  an  hour  later,  she 
picked  her  way  home  through  the  dusty  road,  "  yes, 
the  Church  is  a  great  refuge.  I  will  go  there  every 
day." 

Indeed,  she  was  so  resigned  and  subdued  that 
evening  at  dinner,  that  Marcantonio  asked  whether 
she  had  a  headache. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  answered,  "  I  am  perfectly  well, 
thank  you." 

"  Because  if  you  are  indisposed,  ma  bien-aimee" 
continued  her  husband  with  some  anxiety,  "  we  will 
not  go  to  Castellamare  to-morrow." 


80  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  I  will  certainly  go,"  she  said.  "  I  would  go  if 
I  had  twenty  headaches,"  she  might  have  added, 
for  it  would  have  been  true. 

"  The  occasion  will  be  so  much  the  more  bril 
liant,  ma  tres  chere"  remarked  Marcantonio  gal 
lantly,  as  they  went  out  into  the  garden  under  the 
stars. 

"  It  is  a  hollow  sham,"  said  Leonora  to  herself. 
"  He  does  not  mean  it." 

But  whether  it  was  the  effect  of  the  morning,  or 
the  magic  influence  of  Mr.  Batiscombe's  personality, 
is  not  certain ;  at  all  events  when  that  gentleman 
appeared  at  the  appointed  hour  to  announce  that 
his  boat  was  in  readiness,  Leonora  looked  as  though 
she  had  never  known  what  care  meant.  She  doubt 
less  still  remembered  all  she  had  thought  on  the 
previous  afternoon,  and  she  was  still  quite  sure  that 
her  existence  was  a  wreck  and  a  misery,  —  but 
then,  she  argued,  why  should  we  poor  misunder 
stood  women  not  take  such  innocent  pleasures  as 
come  in  our  way  ?  It  would  be  very  wrong  not  to 
accept  humbly  the  little  crumbs  of  happiness,  etc., 
etc.  So  they  went  to  Castellamare. 

It  is  not  far,  but  the  wind  seldom  serves  in  the 
morning,  and  it  was  an  hour  and  a  half  before  the 
six  stout  men  in  white  suits  and  straw  hats  pulled 
the  boat  round  the  breakwater  of  the  arsenal. 
Everything  was  ready  for  the  ceremony.  Half  a 
dozen  Italian  ironclads  lay  in  the  harbor,  decked 
from  stem  to  stern  with  flags ;  the  royal  person 
ages  had  arrived,  and  were  boring  each  other  to 


TO  LEEWARD.  81 

death  in  a  great  temporary  balcony,  gaudily  deco 
rated  with  red  and  gold,  which  had  been  reared  on 
the  shore  within  reach  of  the  nose  of  the  new  ship. 
The  ship  itself,  a  huge,  ungainly  thing,  painted  red 
and  bearing  three  enormous  national  flags,  lay  like 
a  stranded  monster  in  the  cradle,  looking  for  all 
the  world  like  a  prehistoric  boiled  lobster  with  its 
claws  taken  off.  The  small  water  room  opposite 
the  arsenal  was  crowded  with  every  kind  of  craft, 
and  little  steamers  arrived  every  few  minutes  from 
Naples  to  swell  the  throng.  The  July  sun  beat 
fiercely  down  and  there  was  not  a  breath  of  air. 
The  boatmen  were  all  wrangling  in  a  dozen  south 
ern  dialects,  and  no  one  seemed  to  know  why  the 
ceremony  was  delayed  any  longer.  Nevertheless, 
as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  there  was  half  an  hour  to 
wait  before  the  thing  could  be  done. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  this  a  dreadful  bore," 
said  Batiscombe  to  Leonora  in  English,  while  Marc- 
antonio  was  busy  trying  to  make  out  some  of  his 
friends  on  shore  through  a  field-glass.  Batiscombe 
had  sat  in  the  stern  sheets  to  steer  during  the  trip, 
and  having  Leonora  on  one  side  of  him  and  her  hus 
band  on  the  other,  had  gone  through  an  endless 
series  of  polite  platitudes.  If  it  had  not  been  that 
Leonora  attracted  him  so  much  he  would  himself 
have  been  bored  to  extinction.  But  then  in  that 
case  he  would  probably  not  have  put  himself  in 
such  a  position  at  all. 

"  Oh,  nothing  of  this  kind  bores  me,"  said  Leo 
nora  cheerfully. 
6 


82  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  You  say  that  as  though  there  were  many  kinds 
of  things  that  did,  though,"  observed  Batiscombe, 
looking  at  her.  It  was  a  natural  remark,  without 
any  intention. 

"  Dear  me,  yes  !  "  exclaimed  Leonora.  "  Life 
is  not  all  roses,  you  know."  She  therewith  assumed 
a  thoughtful  expression  and  looked  away. 

"  I  should  not  have  supposed  there  were  many 
thorns  in  your  path,  marchesa.  Would  it  be  in 
discreet  to  inquire  of  what  nature  they  may  be  ?  " 
Leonora  was  silent,  and  put  up  her  glass  to  ex 
amine  the  proceedings  on  shore. 

Batiscombe,  who  had  come  out  that  day  with  the 
sworn  determination  not  to  say  or  do  anything  to 
increase  the  interest  he  felt  in  the  marchesa,  found 
himself  wondering  whether  she  were  unhappy.  The 
first  and  most  natural  conclusion  was  that  she  had 
been  married  to  Marcantonio  by  designing  parents, 
and  that  she  did  not  care  for  him.  Society  said  it 
had  been  a  love-match,  but  what  will  society  not 
say?  Poor  thing,  he  thought,  I  suppose  she  is 
miserable  ! 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  did 
not  know  you  were  in. earnest."  Leonora  blushed 
faintly  and  glanced  quickly  at  him.  He  had  the 
faculty  of  saying  little  things  to  women  that  at 
tracted  their  attention. 

"  What  lots  of  poetry  one  might  make  about  a 
launch,"  he  said,  laughing,  —  for  it  was  necessary 
to  change  the  subject,  —  "  ship  —  dip ;  ocean  —  mo 
tion;  keel — feel:  the  rhymes  are  perfectly  endless." 


TO  LEEWARD.  83 

"  Yes,"  said  Leonora  ;  "  you  might  make  a  son 
net  on  the  spot.  Besides,  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
sentiment  about  the  launching  of  a  great  man-of- 
war.  The  voyage  of  life  —  and  that  sort  of  thing 
—  don't  you  know  ?  How  hot  it  is  !  " 

"  I  will  have  another  awning  up  in  a  minute," 
and  he  directed  the  sailors,  helping  to  do  the  work 
himself.  He  stood  upon  the  gunwale  to  do  it. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  fall,"  said  Leonora,  ner 
vously.  "  Do  sit  down  !  " 

"  If  I  had  a  millstone  round  my  neck  there  would 
be  some  object  in  falling,"  said  Batiscombe.  "  As 
it  is,  1  should  not  even  have  the  satisfaction  of 
drowning." 

"  What  an  idea  !  would  you  like  to  be  drowned  ?  " 
she  said,  looking  up  to  him. 

"  Sometimes,"  he  answered,  still  busy  with  the 
awning.  Then  he  sat  down  again. 

* "  You  should  not  say  that  sort  of  thing,"  said 
Leonora.  "  Besides,  it  is  rude  to  say  you  would 
like  to  be  drowned  when  I  am  your  guest." 

"  Great  truths  are  not  always  pretty.  But  how 
could  any  man  die  better  than  at  your  feet  ?  "  He 
laughed  a  little,  and  yet  his  voico  had  an  earnest 
ring  to  it.  He  had  judged  rightly  when  he  foresaw 
that  he  must  fall  in  love  with  Leonora. 

Marcantonio,  who  did  not  understand  English, 
was  watching  the  proceedings  on  shore. 

"  Ah !  it  is  magnificent !  "  he  cried,  with  great 
enthusiasm.  The  royal  personage  who  was  to 
christen  the  ship  had  just  broken  the  bottle  of 


84  TO  LEEWARD. 

wine,  and  the  little  crowd  of  courtiers,  officers,  and 
maids  of  honor  clapped  their  hands  and  grinned. 
They  all  looked  hot  and  miserable  and  exhausted, 
but  they  grinned  right  nobly,  like  so  many  Che 
shire  cats.  There  was  a  sound  of  knocking  and 
hammering,  a  final  shout  of  warning  from  the  dock 
officers,  a  slight  trembling  of  the  great  hulk,  and 
then  the  ship  began  to  move,  slowly  at  first,  and 
ever  more  quickly,  till  with  a  mighty  rush  and  a 
plunge  and  a  swirl  she  was  out  in  the  water.  The 
people  yelled  till  they  were  hoarse,  the  boatmen 
cursed  each  other  by  all  the  maledictions  ever  in 
vented  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  a  lost  humanity, 
the  royal  personages  stood  together  on  their  plat 
form  looking  like  a  troupe  of  marionettes  in  a  toy 
theatre,  and  congratulating  each  other  furiously  as 
though  they  had  done  it  all  themselves  ;  everything 
was  noise  and  sunshine  and  tepid  water ;  Marc- 
antonio  was  flourishing  his  hat,  and  Leonora  waved 
a  little  lace  handkerchief,  while  Batiscombe  sat 
looking  at  her  and  wondering  why  he  had  never 
thought  her  beautiful  before.  Indeed,  she  was 
superb  in  her  simple,  raw  silk  gown,  with  fresh- 
cut  roses  at  her  waist. 

"It  seems  to  me,  marches^,  that  you  are  very 
enthusiastic,"  said  Batiscombe  to  Marcantonio. 

"  Mon  Dieu  I  "  exclaimed  the  other,  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  "one  cheers  these  things  as  one 
would  cheer  fireworks,  or  a  race.  It  signifies  noth- 
ing." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  said  Leonora ;  "  and  besides,  it 
is  so  pretty." 


TO  LEEWARD.  85 

"I  think  it  is  horrible,"  said  Batiscombe,  sud 
denly. 

"Why  — what?" 

"  To  see  a  nation  squandering  money  in  this  way, 
when  the  taxes  on  land  are  at  sixty  per  cent,  and 
more,  and  the  people  emigrating  by  the  shipload 
because  they  cannot  live  in  their  own  homes." 

"  Oh,  for  that  matter,  you  are  right,"  said  Marc- 
antonio,  turning  grave  in  a  moment.  "  I  could  tell 
you  a  story  about  taxes." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Leonora.  "  Those  things 
are  so  interesting." 

"  Last  autumn  I  was  in  the  Sabines  ;  I  have  a 
place  up  there,  altogether  ancient  and  dilapidated 
—  ereinte.  I  own  some  of  the  land,  and  the  peas 
ants  own  little  vineyards.  One  day  I  saw  by  the 
roadside  a  poor  old  man,  a  sort  of  village  cretin, 
that  every  one  knew  quite  well.  We  used  to  call 
him  Angelino  ;  he  was  half  idiotic  and  quite  old. 
He  was  weeping  bitterly,  poor  wretch,  and  I  asked 
him  what  was  the  matter.  He  pointed  to  a  little 
plot  of  land  by  the  road,  inclosed  with  a  stone  wall, 
and  said  the  tax-gatherer  had  taken  it  from  him. 
And  then  he  cried  again,  and  I  could  not  get  any 
thing  more  out  of  him." 

"  Poor  creature !  "  exclaimed  Leonora,  sympa 
thetically. 

"  Eh  bien,"  continued  Marcantonio,  "  I  made 
inquiries,  and  I  found  that  he  had  owned  the  little 
plot,  and  that  the  tax-gatherer  had  first  seized  the 
wretched  crop  of  maize  —  perhaps  a  bushel  basket 


86  TO  LEEWARD. 

full  —  to  pay  the  tax ;  and  then,  as  that  did  not 
cover  his  demands,  he  seized  the  land  itself  and 
sold  it  or  offered  it  for  sale." 

"  Infamous  !  "  cried  Leonora,  and  the  tears  were 
in  her  eyes. 

"  A  cheerful  state  of  things,"  remarked  Batis- 
combe,  "  when  the  whole  crop  does  not  suffice  to 
pay  the  taxes  on  the  soil !  " 

"  N'est-ce  pas  ?  "  said  Marcantonio.  "  Well,  I 
provided  for  the  poor  old  man,  but  he  died  in  the 
winter.  It  broke  his  heart."  1 

"  I  love  the  Italians,"  said  Batiscombe  ;  "  but 
their  ideas  of  economy  are  peculiar.  I  suppose 
that  without  much  metaphor  or  exaggeration  one 
might  say  that  the  poor  cretin's  bushel  of  corn  is 
gone  into  that  ridiculous  ironclad  over  there." 

"  But  of  course  it  is,"  said  Marcantonio.  "  The 
whole  thing  probably  paid  for  one  rivet.  You, 
who  write  books,  Monsieur  Batiscombe,  put  that 
into  a  book  and  render  it  very  pathetic." 

"  It  needs  little  rendering  to  make  it  that,"  said 
Batiscombe,  and  he  looked  at  Leonora's  eyes  that 
were  not  yet  dry 

By  this  time  the  royal  marionettes  had  been 
bundled  off  to  their  boats,  and  the  crowd  of  small 
craft  on  the  water  began  to  disperse.  Batiscombe's 
six  men  fell  to  their  oars  and  the  boat  shot  out 
from  the  breakwater.  Presently  they  hoisted  the 
bright  lateen  sails  to  the  breeze.  Batiscombe 
perched  himself  on  the  weather  rail,  with  his  foot 

l  The  author  witnessed  the  facts  here  described  in  1880. 


TO   LEEWARD.  87 

on  the  tiller,  and  the  brave  little  craft  heeled  over 
and  began  to  cut  the  water.  The  wind  fanned 
Leonora's  cheek,  and  she  said  it  "  was  too  delight 
ful." 

Batiscombe  suggested  that  they  should  run  into 
one  of  the  great  green  caves  that  honeycomb  the 
cliffs  near  Sorrento,  and  make  it  their  dining- 
room.  So  away  they  went,  rejoicing  to  be  out  of 
the  heat  and  the  noise.  It  was  twelve  o'clock,  and 
far  up  among  the  orange  groves  the  little  church 
bells  rang  out  their  midday  chime,  laughing  to 
gether  in  the  white  belfries  for  joy  of  the  sunshine 
and  the  fair  summer's  day. 

"  I  would  like  to  be  always  sailing,"  said  Leo 
nora,  who  had  now  quite  forgotten  her  woes  and 
enjoyed  the  change. 

"  Ma  chere"  said  her  husband,  "  there  is  nothing- 
simpler." 

"  You  always  say  that,"  she  answered  rather  re 
proachfully  ;  "  but  this  is  the  very  first  time  I  have 
been  on  the  water  since  we  came." 

"  My  boat  and  my  men  are  always  at  your  dis 
posal,  marchesa,"  said  Batiscombe,  looking  down 
at  her,  "  and  myself,  too,  if  you  will  condescend  to 
employ  me  as  your  skipper." 

"  Thanks,  you  are  very  good,"  said  she.  "  But 
I  thought  you  were  only  passing,  and  would  be 
gone  in  a  few  days?"  She  glanced  up  at  him,  as 
though  she  meant  to  be  answered. 

"  Oh,  it  is  very  uncertain,"  said  Batiscombe.  "  It 
depends,"  he  added  in  a  lower  voice  and  in  Eng- 


88  TO  LEEWARD. 

lish,  "upon  whether  you  will  use  the  boat."  It 
was  rather  a  bold  stroke,  but  it  told,  and  he  was 
rewarded. 

"  I  would  like  very  much  to  go  out  again  some 
day,"  she  said. 

Those  little  words  and  sentences,  what  danger 
signals  they  ought  to  be  to  people  about  to  fall  in 
love  I  Batiscombe  knew  it ;  he  knew  well  that 
every  such  speech,  in  her  native  language  and  in  a 
half  voice,  was  one  step  nearer  to  the  inevitable 
end.  But  he  was  fast  getting  to  the  point  when,  as 
far  as  he  himself  was  concerned,  the  die  would  be 
cast.  His  manner  changed  perceptibly  during  the 
day,  as  the  influence  gained  strength.  His  voice 
grew  lower  and  he  laughed  less,  while  his  eyes 
shone  curiously,  even  in  the  midday  sun. 

The  boat  ran  into  the  cave,  which  was  the  largest 
on  the  shore,  and  would  admit  the  mast  and  the 
long  yards  without  difficulty.  Within  the  light 
was  green,  and  the  water  now  and  again  plashed  on 
the  rocks.  The  men  steadied  the  craft  with  their 
oars  and  the  party  proceeded  to  lunch.  Most  of 
"  society  "  has  a  most  excellent  appetite,  and  when 
one  reflects  how  very  hard  society  works  to  amuse 
itself,  it  is  not  surprising  that  it  should  need  gen 
erous  nourishment.  The  unlucky  cook  had  done 
his  best,  and  the  result  was  satisfactory.  There 
were  all  manner  of  things,  and  some  bottles  of 
strong  Falerno  wine.  Batiscombe  drank  water 
and  very  little  of  it. 

"Somebody  has    said,"  remarked   Marcantonio 


TO  LEEWARD.  89 

with  a  laugh,  "that  one  must  distrust  the  man 
who  drinks  water  when  other  people  drink  wine. 
We  shall  have  to  beware  of  you,  Monsieur  Batis- 
combe."  He  had  learned  the  name  very  well  by 
this  time. 

"  Perhaps  there  is  truth  in  it,"  said  Batiscombe, 
"  but  it  is  not  my  habit  I  can  assure  you.  The 
origin  of-  the  saying  lies  in  the  good  old  custom  of 
doctoring  other  people's  draughts.  The  man  who 
drank  water  at  a  feast  two  hundred  years  ago  was 
either  afraid  of  being  poisoned  himself,  or  was 
engaged  in  poisoning  his  neighbors." 

"  Oh,  the  dear,  good  old  time !  "  exclaimed  Leo 
nora,  eating  her  salad  daintily. 

"  Do  you  wish  it  were  back  again,  marchesa?" 
asked  Batiscombe.  "  Are  there  many  people  you 
would  like  to  poison  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  that  exactly,"  and  she  laughed.  "  But 
life  must  have  been  very  exciting  and  interesting 
then." 

"  Enfin"  remarked  Marcantonio,  "  I  am  very 
well  pleased  with  it  as  it  is.  There  was  no  opera, 
no  election,  no  launching  of  war-ships  ;  and  when 
you  went  out  you  had  to  wear  a  patent  safe  on  your 
head,  in  case  anybody  wanted  to  break  it  for  you. 
And  then,  there  was  generally  some  one  who  did. 
Yes,  indeed,  it  must  have  been  charming,  alto 
gether  ravissant.  Allez !  give  me  the  nineteenth 
century." 

"  I  assure  you,  marchesa,"  said  Batiscombe,  "  life 
can  be  exceedingly  exciting  and  interesting  now." 


90  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  I  dare  say,"  retorted  Leonora,  "  for  people 
who  go  round  the  world  in  boats  in  search  of  ad 
ventures,  and  write  books  abusing  their  enemies. 
But  we  —  what  do  we  ever  do  that  is  interesting 
or  exciting?  We  stay  at  home  and  pour  tea." 

"And  in  those  days,"  answered  Batiscombe, 
"  the  ladies  stayed  at  home  and  knit  stockings,  or 
if  they  were  very  clever  they  worked  miles  and 
miles  of  embroidery  and  acres  of  tapestry.  About 
once  a  month  they  were  allowed  to  look  out  of 
the  window  and  see  their  relations  beating  each 
other's  brains  out  with  iron  clubs,  and  running 
each  other  through  the  body  with  pointed  sticks. 
As  the  marchese  says,  it  was  absolutely  delightful, 
that  kind  of  life." 

"  You  are  dreadfully  prejudiced,"  said  Leonora. 
"  But  I  am  sure  it  was  very  nice." 

And  so  they  talked,  and  the  men  smoked  a  little, 
till  they  decided  that  they  had  had  enough  of  it, 
and  the  oars  plashed  in  the  water  together,  sending 
the  boat  out  again  into  the  bright  sun.  In  five 
minutes  they  were  at  the  landing  belonging  to  the 
Carantoni  villa.  There  was  a  deep  cleft  in  the 
cliffs  just  there,  and  the  descent  wound  curiously 
in  and  out  of  the  rock,  so  that  in  many  places  you 
could  only  trace  it  from  below  by  the  windows 
hewn  in  the  solid  stone  to  give  light  and  air  to  the 
passage.  The  rocks  ran  out  a  little  at  the  base, 
and  there  were  steps  carved  for  landing.  There 
are  few  places  so  strikingly  odd  as  this  landing  to 
the  Carantoni  villa.  Leonora  said  it  was  "eerie." 


TO  LEEWARD.  91 

When  it  came  to  parting,  the  young  couple  were 
profuse  in  their  thanks  to  Mr.  Batiscombe  for  the 
enchanting  trip. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Marcantonio,  "  that  you  will  come 
and  dine  with  us  very  soon,  and  change  your  mind 
about  the  water-drinking,  and  give  us  another  op 
portunity  of  thanking  you." 

"  I  have  enjoyed  it  very,  very  much,"  said  Leo 
nora,  giving  Batiscombe  her  hand.  Their  eyes  met, 
and  for  the  first  time  she  noticed  the  curious  light 
in  his  glance.  But  he  bowed  very  low  and  very 
elaborately,  so  to  say. 

"  You  will  keep  your  promise,"  he  said,  "  and 
use  the  boat  again  ?  " 

"  Thanks  so  very  much.  But  of  course  we  will 
have  a  boat  of  our  own  now,  and  so  I  would  not 
think  of  asking  you."  She  smiled  a  little  at  him. 
Somehow  he  understood  perfectly  that  he  would 
nevertheless  induce  her  to  accept  his  offer.  He 
stood  hat  in  hand  on  the  rocks  as  they  disappeared 
into  the  dark  stairway.  Then  he  sprang  into  the 
boat,  and  the  men  pulled  lustily  away. 

He  leaned  back  in  the  stern  with  his  hand  on  the 
tiller  and  his  eyes  half  closed.  In  the  bottom  of 
the  boat  were  the  lunch  baskets,  and  one  of  Leono 
ra's  roses  had  fallen  from  the  stem  and  lay  wither 
ing  in  the  hot  July  sun.  Batiscombe  picked  it  up, 
looked  at  it,  pulled  a  leaf  or  two,  and  threw  it  over 
board,  with  a  half  sneer  of  dissatisfaction. 

"They  have  forgotten  the  baskets,  though,"  he 
thought  to  himself.  "  If  they  had  asked  me  to  go 


92  TO  LEEWARD. 

up  with  them,  as  they  should  have  done,  I  would 
have  had  them  carried  up.  As  it  is  I  will  —  I  will 
wait  till  they  write  for  them.  I  could -hardly  take 
them  myself."  And  he  lighted  a  cigarette. 

As  Leonora  mounted  the  stairway,  leaning  on 
her  husband's  arm,  she  turned  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  boat  gliding  away  in  the  distance.  She  could 
just  see  it  through  one  of  the  windows  in  the  rock. 

"  Why  did  you  not  ask  him  to  come  up  ?  "  said 
she. 

"  Why  did  you  not  ask  him,  mon  ange  ? "  re 
turned  Marcantonio. 

"  I  thought  you  might  not  like  it,"  she  answered. 

"  Comment  done!-  He  is  very  amiable,  I  am 
sure.  But  I  thought  you  were  tired  and  had  had 
enough  of  him,  —  in  short,  that  you  did  not  want 
him." 

"  Ah !  "  ejaculated  Leonora.  She  felt  a  little 
curious  sense  of  pleasure,  that  was  quite  new  to 
her,  at  the  idea  that  her  husband  could  have  seri 
ously  thought  she  did  not  want  Mr.  Batiscombe. 

"Naturally,"  added  Marcantonio,  "we  ought  to 
have  asked  him." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  she,  indifferently  enough. 

"  I  will  call  on  him  to-morrow,  and  we  will  have 
him  to  dinner,  if  it  is  agreeable  to  you,  ma  chere" 

44  Oh  yes  —  I  do  not  mind  at  all,"  said  Leonora. 
She  was  thinking  about  something,  and  did  not 
speak  again  till  they  reached  the  house. 

It  was  very  frivolous,  but  she  was  really  thinking 
about  the  curious  expression  of  Mr.  Batiscombe's 


TO  LEEWARD.  93 

eyes.  She  did  not  remember  to  have  ever  seen 
anything  exactly  like  it.  Besides,  she  had  known 
him,  more  or  less,  for  some  time,  and  had  never  no 
ticed  it  before.  Perhaps  it  was  the  reflection  from 
the  water.  But  she  dreamed  that  night  that  she 
saw  those  eyes  very  close  to  her,  and  the  expression 
of  them  frightened  her  a  little,  but  was  not  alto 
gether  disagreeable. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

JULIUS  BATISCOMBE  was  a  restless  man  by  day 
and  night,  after  the  trip  to  Castellamare.  Marc- 
antonio  called  upon  him,  but  he  was  out,  and  then 
he  received  an  invitation  to  dinner  from  Leonora, 
with  a  postscript  about  the  unlucky  baskets.  He 
accepted  the  invitation.  What  else  could  he  do  ? 

But  when  the  day  came  he  regretted  it.  He 
wished  he  had  refused  and  had  gone  away.  Then 
he  made  a  fine  resolution. 

"  I  will  not  go  to  this  dinner,"  he  said  to  himself, 
savagely,  as  he  walked  quickly  up  and  down  his 
room.  "  I  will  not  go  near  her  again.  It  is  not 
right,  and  I  won't  do  it.  I  will  sail  over  to  Na 
ples  at  once,  and  send  back  a  telegram  of  excuse, 
saying  that  a  matter  of  the  most  urgent  importance 
keeps  me  there.  So  it  is  —  I  should  think  so  —  a 
matter  of  very  urgent  importance.  Oh!  Julius 
Batiscombe,  what  an  ass  you  are  to  be  sure ! " 
With  that  he  crammed  some  things  into  a  bag,  sent 
for  his  man,  and  descended  in  hot  haste  to  the 
shore.  There  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  for  it  was  al 
ready  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  and  the  invita 
tion  was  for  eight.  He  could  just  reach  Naples 
and  send  his  telegram  in  time  to  prevent  the  Caran- 
toni  from  waiting  for  him. 


TO  LEEWARD.  95 

The  lazy  breeze  was  dying  away,  and  he  wished 
he  had  had  the  sense  to  make  up  his  mind  sooner. 
But  his  men  rowed  lustily,  and  kept  time,  so  that 
the  boat  spun  along  fairly  enough. 

"  I  shall  do  it,"  said  Julius  Batiscombe  to  him 
self.  He  was  happy  enough  in  the  sensation  that 
he  was  cheating  his  fate  and  was  about  to  escape  a 
serious  affection.  Then  he  laughed  at  the  comic 
side  of  the  case,  and  lit  a  cigar  and  blew  great 
clouds  of  smoke  over  his  shoulder.  But  fate  and 
Batiscombe  were  old  enemies,  and  fate  generally 
got  the  better  of  it. 

It  chanced  that  on  this  very  day  Leonora  and 
Marcantonio  had  determined  to  go  out  in  the  new 
boat.  For  Marcantonio  had  wanted  to  give  his 
wife  a  surprise,  and  had  got  from  Naples  a  beauti 
ful  clean-built  launch.  He  had  said  nothing  about 
it,  and  had  patiently  borne  her  reproaches  at  his 
indifference  to  sailing,  until  on  the  previous  even 
ing  he  had  taken  her  down  the  descent  to  the  rocks 
and  had  shown  her  his  purchase,  which  had  just 
arrived  by  the  steamer.  Of  course  she  was  en 
chanted,  and  determined  to  make  the  most  of  it, 
for  she  was  really  fond  of  the  water.  Accord 
ingly,  on  this  very  day,  she  and  her  husband  sal 
lied  forth  with  six  men,  —  for  he  had  not  dared  to 
give  her  a  smaller  crew  than  Mr.  Batiscombe's. 
She  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  go  that  she  said  she 
did  not  mind  the  sun  in  the  least,  —  oh  dear,  no ! 
she  rather  liked  it.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  a 
few  minutes  after  Julius  had  given  his  men  the 


96  TO  LEEWARD. 

word  to  fall  to  their  oars  at  the  little  beach  of  the 
town  of  Sorrento,  a  long  low  craft,  painted  in  dark 
green  and  gold,  and  looking  exceedingly  trim  and 
"  fit  "  with  its  long  lateen  yard  and  raking  mast, 
shot  out  from  the  cleft  beneath  Leonora's  villa. 

Batiscombe  looked  straight  before  him,  steering 
by  the  Naples  shore,  and  intent  on  wasting  neither 
time  nor  distance.  He  might  have  been  out  half 
an  hour  or  more  when  a  remark  from  one  of  his 
crew  made  him  look  round,  and  he  was  aware  of  a 
dark  green  boat  two  or  three  hundred  yards  astern, 
but  rapidly  pulling  up  to  him.  He  started,  for 
though  he  could  not  see  the  faces  of  the  occupants, 
he  recognized  a  parasol  that  Leonora  had  taken  to 
Castellamare. 

"  It  is  the  new  boat  of  the  Marchese  Carantoni," 
said  the  man  who  had  first  spoken  to  Batiscombe. 
The  man  had  seen  it  arrive  by  the  steamer  the 
night  previous,  and  had  helped  to  put  it  into  the 
water  to  be  rowed  down  to  the  villa.  Batiscombe 
gave  one  more  look  and  groaned  inwardly.  He 
would  make  a  fight  for  it,  though,  he  thought.  He 
encouraged  his  men  not  to  allow  themselves  to  be 
overtaken  by  a  parcel  of  Neapolitans,  as  he  deri 
sively  called  the  crew  of  Carantoni's  boat.  His 
own  men  were  tough  fellows  from  the  north  of 
Italy,  bearded,  and  broad,  and  bronzed ;  but  his 
boat,  built  for  rougher  weather  and  rougher  work 
than  pleasure-rowing  in  the  bay  of  Naples,  was 
twice  as  heavy  as  the  slight  green  craft  astern. 
His  sturdy  men  set  their  teeth  and  tugged  hard, 
but  the  others  gained  on  them. 


TO  LEEWARD.  97 

Leonora  and  Marcantonio  had  recognized  the 
cut  of  Batiscombe's  boat  and  crew  from  a  dis 
tance  ;  and,  in  profound  ignorance  of  his  amiable 
intentions  of  flight,  they  imagined  nothing  more 
amusing  than  to  race  him. 

"  If  we  cannot  beat  him,"  said  Leonora,  breath 
less  with  excitement,  "  I  will  never  come  out  in 
your  boat  again  !  "  She  strained  her  eyes  to  make 
out  if  they  were  gaming  way.  Marcantonio  spoke 
to  the  men  :  — 

"  Corraggio,  Corraggio  ! 
Maccaroni  con  formaggio  !  " 

The  men  repeated  the  rhyme  to  each  other  with 
a  grin,  and  bent  hard  to  their  work.  They  were 
not  Neapolitans  as  Batiscombe  called  them,  but 
strong-backed,  slim  fishermen  from  the  southern 
coast,  as  dark  as  Arabs  and  as  merry  as  thieves, 
enjoying  a  race  of  all  things  best  in  the  world,  and 
well  able  to  row  it.  Swiftly  the  dark  green  boat 
crept  up  to  her  rival,  and  soon  Batiscombe  could 
hear  the  remarks  of  the  men.  His  own  crew  did 
their  best,  but  it  was  a  hopeless  case. 

"  Monsieur  Batiscombe,  Monsieur  Batiscombe," 
shouted  Marcantonio,  almost  as  much  excited  as 
his  wife,  "  we  shall  conquer  you  immediately  !  " 

Julius  turned  and  waved  his  hat,  and  made  a 
gesture  of  submission.  A  few  lengths  more  and 
they  were  beside  him.  He  raised  his  hand,  and 
his  men  hung  on  their  oars. 

"  Kismet!  it  is  my  portion,"  he  said  to  himself  as 
he  gave  up  the  fight. 


98  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  But  where  are  you  going  in  such  a  hurry,  Mr. 
Batiscombe  ?  "  asked  Leonora,  who  was  delighted 
at  having  won  the  race.  "You  see  it  is  no  use 
running  away  ;  we  can  catch  you  so  easily." 

"  Yes,"  said  Batiscombe,  laughing  recklessly  at 
the  hidden  truth  of  her  words,  "  I  see  it  is  of  no 
use,  but  I  tried  hard.  It  was  a  good  race."  He 
turned  in  his  seat  and  leaned  over,  looking  at  his 
friends.  The  boats  drifted  together,  and  the  men 
held  them  side  by  side,  unshipping  their  oars. 
Batiscombe  admired  the  whole  turnout,  and  compli 
mented  Leonora  upon  it.  Marcantonio  was  pleased 
with  everything  and  everybody ;  he  was  delighted 
that  his  wife  should  have  had  the  small  satisfaction 
of  victory,  and  he  was  proud  that  his  boat  had  ful 
filled  his  expectations.  So  they  floated  along  side 
by  side,  saying  the  pleasantest  manner  of  things 
possible  to  each  other.  Time  flew  by,  and  presently 
they  turned  homewards. 

"  I  wonder  how  long  it  will  be,"  thought  Batis 
combe  as  he  held  the  tiller  hard  over  and  his  boat 
swung  about,  "  before  I  tell  her  where  I  was  going 
'  in  such  a  hurry  '  ?  "  And  he  smiled  a  grim  sort 
of  irony  at  himself,  for  he  knew  that  he  was  lost. 

"Eight  o'clock  —  don't  forget !  "  cried  Leonora. 
She  had  a  pleasant  voice  that  carried  far  over  the 
water.  Batiscombe  waved  his  hat,  and  smiled 
and  bowed.  They  were  soon  separated,  and  their 
courses  became  more  and  more  divergent  as  they 
neared  the  land. 

Batiscombe  swore  a  little  over  his  dressing,  quite 


TO   LEEWARD.  99 

quietly  and  to  himself,  but  he  bestowed  much  care 
upon  his  appearance.  He  knew  just  how  much 
always  depends  on  appearance  at  the  outset,  and 
how  little  it  is  to  be  relied  on  at  a  later  stage.  So 
he  gave  an  unusual  amount  of  thought  to  his  tie, 
and  was  extremely  fastidious  about  the  rose  in  his 
coat. 

As  for  Leonora,  she  was  on  the  point  of  a  change 
of  mood.  She  had  been  very  gay  and  happy  all 
day  long,  and  the  adventure  with  the  boat  had  still 
further  raised  her  spirits.  But  that  was  all  the 
more  reason  why  they  should  sink  again  before 
long,  for  her  humors  were  mostly  of  short  dura 
tion,  though  of  strong  impulse.  This  evening  she 
felt  as  though  there  were  something  the  matter,  or 
as  though  something  were  going  to  happen,  and 
her  gayety  seemed  to  be  the  least  bit  fictitious  to 
herself.  She  and  her  husband  stood  on  the  terrace 
in  the  sunset,  awaiting  their  guest. 

"  Ma  chere"  said  Marcantonio,  "  I  am  in  de 
spair.  I  shall  be  obliged  to  go  to  Rome  to-morrow 
or  the  next  day.  My  uncle,  the  cardinal,  writes 
me  that  it  is  very  important."  Leonora's  face  fell ; 
she  had  a  sharp  little  sense  of  pain. 

"  Oh,  Marcantoine,"  she  said,  "  do  not  go  away 
now !  " 

"  It  is  only  for  a  day  or  two,  mon  ange"  he 
said,  drawing  her  arm  through  his. 

"  Must  you  really  go  ?  "  she  asked,  not  looking 
at  him. 

"  Helas,  yes." 


100  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  Then  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  she,  in  a  deter 
mined  tone. 

"  Ah,  I  thank  you  for  the  wish,  ch£rie"  he  an 
swered.  "  But  you  will  tire  yourself,  and  be  so 
hot  and  uncomfortable.  See,  I  will  only  be  away 
a  day  and  a  half." 

"  But  I  do  not  want  to  be  alone  here  without 
you,"  she  pleaded.  She  could  not  for  her  life  have 
told  why  she  was  so  distressed  at  the  idea,  but  it 
gave  her  pain,  and  she  insisted. 

"As  you  wish,"  said  Marcantonio,  kissing  her 
hand.  "  I  will  make  every  arrangement  for  your 
comfort,  and  do  what  I  can  to  make  the  journey 
pleasant."  He  was  a  little  surprised,  but,  man 
like,  he  was  flattered  at  his  wife's  show  of  affection. 
There  are  moments  in  a  woman's  life  when,  whether 
she  loves  her  husband  or  not,  she  turns  to  him  and 
holds  to  him  with  an  instinctive  sense  of  reliance. 

A  moment  later  Julius  Batiscombe  was  an 
nounced,  and  the  three  went  in  to  dinner.  It  was 
a  strange  position,  though  it  is  by  no  means  an  un 
common  one.  A  man,  his  wife,  and  another  man, 
an  outsider;  the  outsider  loving  the  woman,  the 
husband  supremely  happy  and  unconscious,  and  the 
woman  feeling  the  evil  influence,  not  altogether 
opposing  it,  and  yet  clinging  desperately  to  her 
husband's  love.  Three  lives,  all  trembling  in  the 
balance  of  weal  and  woe.  But  no  one  would  have 
suspected  it  from  their  appearance,  for  they  were 
apparently  the  gayest  and  most  thoughtless  of  mor 
tals. 


TO  LEEWARD.  101 

The  adventure  in  the  afternoon,  the  expedition 
to  Castellamare,  the  baskets  and  even  the  cook,  — 
then,  the  events  of  the  past  winter,  their  many  mu 
tual  acquaintances,  and  the  whole  unfathomable 
cyclopedia  of  society  facts  and  fictions,  —  every 
thing  was  reviewed  in  turn,  and  talked  of  with  witty 
comments,  good-natured  or  ill-natured  as  the  case 
might  be.  Batiscombe  was  full  of  strange  stories, 
generally  about  people  they  all  knew,  but  he  was 
not  a  gossip  by  nature,  and  he  avoided  saying 
disagreeable  things.  Leonora,  on  the  other  hand, 
would  be  gay  and  brilliant  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  would  let  fall  some  bitter  saying  that  sounded 
oddly  to  Batiscombe,  though  it  made  her  husband 
laugh. 

"  You  would  have  us  believe  you  terribly  dis 
illusioned,  marchesa,"  said  Batiscombe,  after  one 
of  these  sallies.  Leonora  laughed,  and  her  eyes 
flashed  again  as  she  looked  at  him  across  the  table. 

"  You,  who  are  so  fond  of  Eastern  magic,"  she 
said,  "  should  give  back  to  this  age  all  the  illusions 
we  have  lost." 

"  Were  I  to  do  so,"  answered  Batiscombe,  look 
ing  into  her  eyes  as  he  spoke,  "  I  fear  that  you, 
who  are  so  fond  of  Western  philosophy,  would  tear 
them  all  to  pieces." 

"  My  poor  philosophy,"  exclaimed  Leonora,  "  you 
will  not  let  it  alone.  You  seem  to  think  it  is  to 
blame  for  everything,  —  as  if  one  could  not  try,  ever 
so  humbly,  to  learn  a  little  something  for  one's  self, 
without  being  always  held  up  for  it  as  an  exception 


102  TO  LEEWARD. 

to  the  whole  human  race.  It  is  as  if  I  were  to  at 
tribute  everything  you  say  and  do  to  the  fact  of 
your  having  written  a  book  —  how  many  —  two? 
three  ?  "  She  laughed  gayly.  "  I  do  not  know," 
she  continued,  "  and  I  will  never  read  anything 
more  that  you  write,  because  you  laugh  at  my  phi 
losophy." 

"  It  is  better  to  laugh  at  it  than  to  cry  at  it," 
said  Marcantonio,  without  meaning  anything. 

"Why  should  I  cry  at  it?"  asked  Leonora 
quickly.  Her  husband  did  not  know  how  honestly 
she  had  shed  tears  and  made  herself  miserable  over 
it  aU. 

"  You  laugh  now,"  he  answered,  "  but  imagine  a 
little.  All  philosophers  are  old  and  hideous,  and 
wear  "  — 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  marchese,"  broke  in  Batis- 
combe,  "  do  not  paint  the  devil  on  the  wall,  as  the 
Germans  say." 

"  The  Germans  need  not  paint  the  devil,"  re 
torted  Marcantonio,  irrelevantly.  "  They  need  only 
look  into  the  glass."  He  hated  the  whole  race. 

"  You  might  as  well  say  that  Italians  need  not 
go  to  the  theatre,"  put  in  Leonora,  "  because  they 
are  all  actors."  Her  husband  laughed  good-hu- 
moredly. 

"  You  might  as  well  say,"  said  Batiscombe,  "  that 
Englishmen  need  not  keep  horses  because  they  are 
all  donkeys.  But  please  do  not  say  it." 

"  No,"  said  Leonora,  "  we  will  spare  you.  But 
you  might  say  anything  in  the  world  of  that  kind. 
It  has  no  bearing  on  my  philosophy," 


TO  LEEWARD.  103 

"  That  is  true,"  answered  Marcantonio.    "  I  said 

.  that  philosophers  were  old  and  hideous,  but  not 

that  they  were   devils,  actors,  or  donkeys.     You 

suggest  the  idea.     I  think  they  are  probably  all 

three." 

"  Provided  you  do  not  think  so  after  I  have  be 
come  a  philosopher,"  said  Leonora,  "  you  may  think 
what  you  please  at  present,  mon  ami." 

"  I  think  that  you  are  altogether  the  most  charm 
ing  woman  in  the  world,"  replied  her  husband,  look 
ing  at  her  affectionately. 

"Is  it  permitted  to  remark  that  the  marchese  is 
not  alone  in  that  opinion  ?  "  inquired  Batiscombe, 
politely. 

"No,"  said  Leonora,  demurely,  "it  is  not  per 
mitted.  And  observe  that  an  English  husband 
would  not  say  that  kind  of  thing  in  public,  mon 
cher." 

"  Perhaps  because  they  do  not  believe  it  in  pri 
vate,"  objected  Marcantonio. 

"More  likely  for  the  reason  I  suggested,"  ob 
served  Batiscombe,  "  that  we  are  all  donkeys." 

"  All  ?  "  asked  Leonora.  "  But  some  of  you  are 
authors  "  — 

"  It  is  the  same  thing,"  said  Batiscombe. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  there  are  times  "  —  began  Marc 
antonio. 

"  When  you  believe  it  ?  "  inquired  Batiscombe, 
laughing. 

"Ah,  no!  you  are  unkind;  but  times  when  I 
would  like  to  be  an  Englishman." 


104  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  I  have  heard  of  such  people,"  said  Batiscombe, 
gravely,  "  but  I  have  never  met  one.  You  interest 
me,  marchese." 

"You  must  not  be  so  terribly  disloyal,"  said 
Leonora.  "You  know  I  am  English,  too,  —  at 
least,  I  was,"  she  added,  looking  at  Marcantonio. 

"Precisely,"  said  he.  "The  wife  takes  the  na 
tionality  of  the  husband." 

"  I  am  not  disloyal,"  answered  Batiscombe.  "  I 
am  very  glad  to  be  an  Englishman,  but  I  cannot 
fancy  any  one  else  wishing  to  be  one.  I  should 
think  every  one  would  be  perfectly  contented  with 
his  own  country.  I  cannot  imagine  wanting  to 
change  my  nationality  any  more  than  my  person." 

"Evidently,  you  are  well  satisfied,"  said  Leo 
nora. 

"  Perfectly,  thank  you,  for  the  present.  When 
I  am  tired  of  myself  I  will  retire  gracefully  —  or 
perhaps  gracelessly ;  but  I  will  retire.  I  am  sure 
I  should  never  find  another  personality  half  as 
much  in  sympathy  with  my  ideas." 

As  they  followed  Leonora  from  the  dining-room 
out  upon  the  terrace,  Batiscombe  watched  her  in 
tently.  There  was  a  strength  and  ease  about  her 
carriage  that  pleased  his  strong  love  of  life  and 
beauty.  He  noticed  what  he  had  hardly  noticed 
before,  that  her  figure  was  a  marvel  of  proportion, 
—  no  wasp-waisted  impossibility  of  lacing  and 
high  shoulders,  but  strong  and  lithe,  and  instinct 
with  elastic  motion.  He  had  seen  her  lately  always 
in  some  wrap,  or  lace,  or  mazy  summer  garment, 


TO  LEEWARD.  105 

whereas  this  evening  she  was  clad  in  close  silk  of  a 
deep-red  color,  with  the  least  possible  trimming  or 
marring  line.  The  masses  of  her  hair,  too,  rich  in 
red  lights  and  deep  shadows,  were  coiled  close  to 
her  noble  head,  and  her  dazzling  throat  just  showed 
at  the  square  cutting  of  her  dress. 

"  People  must  be  wonderfully  mistaken,"  thought 
Batiscombe.  "  She  is  certainly,  undeniably  a  great 
beauty,  in  her  very  peculiar  way.  Gad  !  I  should 
think  so  indeed  !  "  which  was  the  strongest  expres 
sion  of  affirmation  in  Julius  Batiscombe's  vocabu 
lary. 

It  was  no  wonder  she  attracted  him.  For  nearly 
two  months  he  had  been  wandering,  chiefly  in  his 
boat  on  the  salt  water,  and  in  that  time  he  had  not 
so  much  as  spoken  to  a  woman.  His  conversation 
had  been  with  himself  during  all  that  time ;  and  if 
he  had  enjoyed  intensely  the  freedom  of  heart  and 
thought  in  the  intellectual  point  of  view,  his  strong 
nature,  always  drawn  to  women  when  not  plunged 
deep  in  work  or  adventure,  could  not  withstand  the 
sudden  magnetism  now  thrown  upon  ft.  He  knew 
and  felt  the  evil  of  it,  and  he  struggled  as  best  he 
could,  but  each  fresh  meeting  made  the  chances  of 
escape  fewer  and  the  danger  more  desperate. 

"  Marry,"  said  his  best  friend  to  him,  when,  now 
and  then,  in  the  course  of  years,  they  met. 

"  How  can  I  marry  ?  "  he  would  ask.  "  How 
can  I  ever  hope  to  love  one  woman  again  as  a 
woman  deserves  to  be  loved  ?  " 

"  Then  go  into  a  monastery  and  do  no  more  mis 
chief,"  returned  the  friend.  She  was  a  woman. 


106  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  I  am  no  saint,"  Julius  would  say,  "  but  I  will 
try  to  be."  And  ever  he  tried  and  failed  again. 

They  sat  upon  the  terrace  in  the  cool  of  the 
early  night,  with  their  coffee  and  their  cigarettes. 
There  was  a  lull  in  their  conversation,  the  result  of 
having  talked  so  much  at  table. 

"  A  propos"  said  Marcantonio,  "  of  content 
ment,  we  are  very  discontented  people.  We  are 
going  to  Koine  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day." 

Batiscombe  was  surprised.  He  paused  with  his 
coffee  cup  in  one  hand  and  his  cigarette  in  the 
other,  as  though  expecting  more. 

"  Of  course  it  is  only  for  a  day  or  two,"  con 
tinued  Marcantonio.  "  We  shall  return  immedi 
ately." 

"  Seriously,  Marcantoine,"  said  Leonora,  "  how 
long  shall  we  have  to  stay?  " 

"  Oh  —  not  very  long,"  he  said.  "  I  will  get  the 
letter.  Monsieur  Batiscombe  will  pardon  me?" 
Batiscombe  murmured  something  polite  and  Marc 
antonio  rose  quickly  and  entered  the  house. 

"Are  you  really  going  so  soon?"  Julius  asked 
in  English,  when  they  were  alone,  and  Leonora 
could  see  the  light  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke.  She 
looked  away,  over  the  starlit  sea. 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure,"  she  said.  "  I  think  I 
ought  to  go." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not,"  said  Batiscombe  boldly,, 
She  turned  and  looked  at  him  again,  with  a  little 
surprise  in  her  face.  Marcantonio  came  back,  —  it 
was  only  a  step  to  his  study. 


TO  LEEWARD.  107 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Marcantoiiio,  sitting  down. 
"  He  says  he  thinks  that  a  day  would  do,  if  I  could 
be  with  him  all  the  time.  Voyez-vous,  he  is  old 
and  wishes  to  put  his  affairs  in  order." 

"  I  cannot  see  "  —  began  Leonora,  but  stopped. 

"  Enfin?  said  Marcantonio,  "it  might  happen 
to  any  one,  I  should  think." 

"  Let  us  hope  it  may  happen  to  all  of  us,"  re 
marked  Batiscombe,  for  the  sake  of  saying  some 
thing. 

When  it  came  to  parting,  Batiscombe  made  some 
polite  remark  about  the  pleasure  he  had  enjoyed. 

"  When  do  you  go  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  shook  hands 
with  Marcantonio. 

"  I  think  we  will  go  to-morrow  night,  —  nest-ce- 
pas,  Leonore  ?  "  He  turned  to  his  wife,  as  though 
inquiring.  She  looked  up  from  where  she  sat  in 
her  deep,  cane  arm-chair. 

"  To-morrow  night  ?  Oh  yes  —  one  day  is  like 
another  —  let  us  go  then  to-morrow  night."  She 
spoke  indifferently  enough,  as  was  natural.  Batis 
combe  supposed  she  meant  to  go.  He  took  his 
leave  with  many  wishes  to  his  hosts  for  a  pleasant 
journey. 

Marcantonio  lighted  a  cigarette  and  stood  look 
ing  out  over  the  water,  by  his  wife's  side.  She 
was  quite  silent,  and  fanned  herself  indolently  with 
a  little  straw  fan  decked  with  ribbons. 

"  Will  you  really  go  to-morrow  night  ?  "  asked 
Marcantonio  at  last.  He  had  a  way  of  dwelling 
on  things  that  wearied  Leonora.  What  possible 


108  TO  LEEWARD. 

difference  could  it  make  whether  they  went  to-mor 
row,  or  the  day  after  ?  "  Because,"  he  continued, 
"  if  you  will  be  ready,  I  will  make  arrangements." 
"  What  arrangements  ? "  asked  Leonora  lan 
guidly. 

"  I  will  write  to  the  cardinal  to  say  I  am  com 
ing,  —  one  must  do  that." 

"  You  can  telegraph." 

16  What  is  the  use,  when  there  is  time  for  writ 
ing?  Why  should  one  waste  a  franc  in  a  tele 
gram  ?  "  He  had  curious  little  economics  of  his 
own. 

"  A  franc !  "  she  explaimed  with  a  little  laugh. 

"And  besides,"  he  continued,  not  heeding  her 
remark,  "  old  gentlemen  do  not  like  to  receive  tele 
grams.  It  gives  on  their  nerves." 

"  Enfin"  said  she,  weary  of  the  question,  "  you 
can  write  that  you  will  go  to-morrow  nidit,  if  vou 
like." 

"  And  you  —  will  you  go  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  depends,"  she  answered.  "  I  may  be  too 
tired." 

Marcantonio  knew  very  well  that  his  wife  was 
not  easily  fatigued  ;  but  he  said  nothing,  and  by 
his  silence  closed  the  discussion.  She  was  very 
changeable,  he  thought ;  but  then,  he  loved  her  very 
much,  and  she  had  a  right  to  be  as  changeable 
as  she  pleased.  It  was  very  good  of  her  to  have 
wanted  to  go  at  all,  and  he  would  not  think  of 
pressing  her  to  it.  He  was  a  very  sensible  and 
unimaginative  man,  not  at  all  given  to  thinking 


TO  LEEWARD.  109 

about  things  he  could  not  see,  or  troubling  himself 
about  them  in  the  least.  So  he  did  not  press  Leo 
nora  now,  and  did  not  make  himself  unhappy  be 
cause  she  was  a  little  changeable.  The  one  thing 
he  really  objected  to  was  her  pursuance  of  what  he 
considered  fruitless  objects  of  study ;  she  had  not 
opened  a  book  of  philosophy  since  their  marriage, 
and  he  was  perfectly  satisfied.  Before  he  went  to 
bed  he  wrote  a  line  to  his  uncle,  Cardinal  Caran- 
toni,  to  say  that  he  would  arrive  on  the  next  day 
but  one. 

Batiscombe  strolled  back  to  the  town  through 
the  narrow  lanes,  fenced  in  to  right  and  left  by 
high  walls.  His  thoughts  were  agreeable  enough, 
and  he  now  and  then  hummed  snatches  of  tunes 
with  evident  satisfaction.  What  a  magnificent 
creature  she  was  !  And  clever  too,  —  at  least  she 
looked  intelligent,  and  said  very  cutting  things,  as 
though  she  could  say  many  more  if  she  liked  ;  and 
she  knew  about  most  things  that  were  discussed, 
and  was  altogether  exactly  what  her  husband  called 
her,  —  the  most  charming  woman  in  the  world.  Be 
sides,  he  thought  he  could  make  a  friend  of  her. 
How  foolish  of  him,  he  reflected,  to  suppose  that 
very  afternoon  that  he  must  needs  falls  in  love 
with  her!  Where  was  the  necessity  ?  He  had  evi 
dently  been  mistaken,  too,  about  her  relations  with 
her  husband.  It  was  clear  that  they  adored  each 
other,  could  not  be  separated  for  a  moment,  since 
when  he  went  to  Kome  on  business  she  must  needs 
accompany  him,  —  in  July,  too !  Would  she  go  ? 


110  TO  LEEWARD. 

Probably.  At  all  events,  he  would  not  call  for  a 
week,  when  they  would  certainly  have,  come  back. 
This  he  thought  as  he  walked  home. 

But  when  he  sat  in  his  room  at  the  hotel  he  re 
membered  what  he  had  thought  as  he  followed  her 
out  of  the  dining-room.  He  had  not  thought  then 
as  he  had  an  hour  later.  Tho  magnetism  of  her 
glorious  vitality  had  been  upon  him,  and  he  had 
envied  Marcantonio  with  all  his  heart,  right  sin 
fully. 

"  Some  people  call  women  changeable,"  he  re 
flected  as  he  blew  out  his  candles  ;  "  they  are  not 
half  so  changeable  as  we  are,  and  some  day  I  will 
write  a  book  to  prove  it." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LEONORA  would  not  go  to  Kome  when  the  mo 
ment  came  to  decide.  She  was  so  sorry,  she  said, 
but  the  weather  had  grown  suddenly  hotter  and  she 
really  did  not  feel  as  though  it  were  possible.  She 
tried  to  make  up  for  it  to  Marcantonio  by  being  all 
that  day  a  very  model  of  devotion  and  tenderness. 
She  affected  a  practical  mood,  and  listened  with 
attention  while  he  explained  to  her  the  reasons  for 
his  going.  She  insisted  on  seeing  herself  that  he 
had  a  small  package  of  sandwiches,  and  a  bottle  of 
wine,  and  plenty  of  cigarettes  to  last  him  through 
the  night;  and  when  he  finally  drove  away,  she 
would  have  driven  with  him  to  Castellamare,  save 
that  she  must  have  come  back  over  the  lonely  road 
alone.  To  tell  the  truth,  she  was  a  little  ashamed 
of  herself;  she  had  been  so  anxious  to  accom 
pany  him,  and  now  she  feared  he  would  be  disap 
pointed. 

Marcantonio  saw  it  all,  and  was  grateful  and 
affectionate,  though  he  begged  her  not  to  take  so 
much  trouble. 

"  En  verite,  mon  ange,"  he  said  more  than  once, 
"  I  might  be  sailing  for  Peru,  you  give  yourself  so 
much  thought." 

But  she  busied  herself  the  same,  going  about  with 


112  TO  LEEWARD. 

a  queer  little  air  of  resignation  that  sat  strangely 
on  her  face.  He  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  her. 

"I  will  not  receive  any  one,  if  any* one  calls," 
she  said,  as  he  was  going.  He  looked  at  her  in 
some  surprise. 

"But  why  in  the  world?"  he  asked.  "Who 
should  call  particularly  ?  Not  even  Monsieur  Batis- 
combe,  —  he  thinks  you  will  go  with  me." 

Leonora  felt  the  least  faint  blush  mount  to  her 
cheeks,  but  it  was  dark  in  the  hall  of  the  villa, 
though  it  was  only  just  dusk,  and  Marcantonio 
could  not  see. 

"  Oh,  not  him,"  said  Leonora.  "  Only  I  want 
to  be  alone  when  you  are  not  here."  For  a  mo 
ment  again  she  wished  she  were  going. 

"Enfin,  my  dear,"  he  answered;  "do  as  you 
prefer ;  it  is  very  amiable  —  very  gentil  —  of  you. 
Adieu,  cherief  "  and  he  got  into  the  carriage  and 
rolled  away. 

But  her  words  lay  in  his  memory  and  would  not 
be  forgotten.  Why  should  she  not  want  to  see  any 
one  ?  Was  there  any  one  ?  Why  had  ^he  been 
so  very  anxious  to  accompany  him,  and  had  begged 
so  hard  that  he  would  not  leave  her  ?  After  all, 
the  only  person  she  could  be  afraid  of  was  Batis- 
combe.  He  wondered  for  one  moment  whether 
there  had  ever  been  anything  between  them  ;  he 
could  remember  to  have  seen  them  together  more 
than  once  in  the  winter,  at  balls.  But  then,  they 
always  met  with  such  perfect  frankness.  He  had 
not  watched  them,  to  be  sure,  but  he  would  have 


TO  LEEWARD.  113 

noticed  anything  out  o£  the  way,  —  bah !  it  was 
ridiculous.  Not  that  he  wanted  Batiscombe  as  an 
intimate,  for  the  man  was  certainly  called  danger 
ous.  He  had  known  him  for  years,  and  had  of 
course  heard  some  of  the  stories  about  him,  —  but 
then,  there  are  stories  about  every  one,  and  Batis 
combe  had  evidently  become  very  pose  since  he  had 
gotten  to  himself  a  reputation.  Besides,  to  see  him 
a  little,  as  they  did  in  Sorrento,  it  would  do  no 
harm  ;  it  meant  nothing,  and  he  would  think  no 
more  about  it.  He  was  not  going  to  begin  life  with 
the  ridiculous  whims  of  a  jealous  husband,  when 
he  had  married  such  an  angel  as  Lsonora  —  not 
he  !  Besides,  Batiscombe  —  of  all  people  !  If  it 
had  been  his  sister  Diana,  it  would  have  been  dif 
ferent.  Everybody  knew  that  poor  Batiscombe 
had  loved  her  ten  years  ago,  when  he  was  as  poor 
as  Job,  and  had  nothing  but  a  fair  position  in  so 
ciety.  But  Marcantonio  had  been  away  then  on 
his  travels,  being  just  nineteen,  and  having  been 
sent  out  into  the  world  to  learn  French  and  spend 
a  little  money  on  his  own  account. 

Strange  that  he  should  almost  have  forgotten  it ! 
Not  that  it  mattered  in  the  least.  The  man  had 
loved  his  sister  to  distraction,  but  had  soon  recog 
nized  the  impossibility  of  such  a  match,  and  had 
gone  away  to  make  his  fortune.  He  had  come  to 
see  Madame  de  Chaiieroi  now  and  then  of  late ; 
Marcantonio  knew  that,  but  it  was  perfectly  nat 
ural  that  they  should  be  the  best  of  friends  after 
so  many  years.  How  they  had  first  met,  or  what 

8 


114  TO  LEEWARD. 

had  passed  between  them,  Marcantonio  did  not 
know,  and  never  troubled  himself  to  ask ;  perhaps 
he  feared  it  would  pain  his  sister  to  speak  of  it. 
But  the  whole  story  invested  Batisconibe  with  a 
kind  of  air  of  safety  as  regarded  Leonora,  He 
had  certainly  behaved  well  about  Diana,  and  no 
body  denied  it.  Nevertheless,  it  was  best  that 
he  should  not  see  Diana  too  often,  especially  if  he 
intended  to  live  in  Rome,  now  that  he  had  made 
his  fortune.  But  Leonora  —  he  might  call  if  he 
pleased,  and  amuse  her  in  the  dull  summer  days. 
Carantoni  would  not  begin  life  by  playing  the  jeal 
ous  husband.  It  was  certainly  odd,  though,  that 
he  should  have  thought  so  little  about  that  old 
story.  The  fact  was,  he  had  never  seen  so  much 
of  Batisconibe  in  his  life  as  during  the  last  week 
or  ten  days. 

Meanwhile,  he  rolled  along  the  road  to  Castella- 
mare,  and,  after  a  great  deal  of  shifting,  found 
himself  in  the  night  train  from  Naples  for  Eome. 
He  ate  his  sandwiches  and  thought  affectionately 
of  his  wife  as  he  did  so  ;  and  then  he  lay  down 
and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just  until  morning. 

When  he  reached  the  Palazzo  Carantoni,  the  first 
piece  of  news  he  received  was  that  Madame  de 
Charleroi  was  in  the  house,  having  arrived  the  pre 
vious  day  alone,  —  that  is  to  say,  with  her  courier 
and  her  maid.  The  old  servant  volunteered  the 
information  that  the  vicomtesse  was  going  to  stay 
a  week,  or  thereabouts,  and  had  sent  a  note  to  the 
house  of  his  Eminence,  Cardinal  Carantoni,  the 


TO  LEEWARD.  115 

night  before.  Marcantonio  gave  instructions  that 
she  should  be  informed  of  his  arrival,  and  that  he 
would  come  and  see  her  later  in  the  morning,  and 
he  retired  to  dress  and  refresh  himself. 

He  hated  family  councils,  and  he  saw  himself 
condemned  to  one,  for  there  was  no  doubt  of  the 
cardinal's  intention,  since  Madame  de  Charleroi 
had  come,  and  had  communicated  with  him.  The 
cardinal  was  old,  and  felt  the  need  of  settling  his 
affairs  and  of  -talking  them  over  with  his  only  near 
relations,  —  his  nephew  and  his  niece.  For  he  was 
rich,  and  had  money  to  leave. 

Marcantonio  and  his  sister  greeted  each  other 
affectionately,  for  they  were  always  glad  to  be  to 
gether,  and  their  meeting  seemed  to  have  been  un 
expected.  His  Eminence  had  sent  for  each  sep 
arately,  and  they  had  arrived  within  twenty-four 
hours  of  each  other,  —  Diana  from  Pegli  and  Marc 
antonio  from  Sorrento.  Of  course,  they  talked  of 
trivial  matters,  for  now  that  Diana  had  accepted 
the  marriage  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  said 
about  it.  At  twelve  o'clock  they  drove  to  the  car 
dinal's  house,  through  the  hot,  glaring  streets  of 
Rome,  fringed  with  the  red  and  white  awnings  of 
the  shops.  The  carriage  rolled  under  the  dark 
porch  of  the  palace,  and  the  pair  mounted  the  cool 
stairway  and  were  soon  ushered  through  a  succes 
sion  of  dusky  halls  and  swinging  green  baize  doors 
to  their  uncle's  study,  —  a  curious,  old-fashioned 
room  in  an  inner  angle  of  the  building.  The  blinds 
were  drawn,  and  the  occasional  chirp  of  the  lazy 


TO  LEEWARD. 


little  birds  came  up  from  the  acacia  trees  in  the 
courtyard. 

The  room  was  carpetless,  with  bright,  smooth, 
red  tiles  ;  in  the  middle  was  a  huge  writing  table 
covered  with  papers  and  books  ;  on  one  end  of  it 
stood  a  large  black  crucifix  with  a  bronze  Christ, 
and  there  was  an  enormous  inkstand  of  glass  and 
brown  wood.  Around  the  walls  were  mahogany 
bookcases,  ornamented  with  light  brass-work  in  the 
style  of  the  first  empire,  and  filled  with  books  and 
pamphlets.  The  room  was  cool  and  dark  and  hi-h 

and  as  the  brother  and  sister  entered,  their  steps 
icked  sharply  on  the  clean,  hard  tiles.     His  Emi 

nence  sat  in  an  arm-chair  at  the  writing  table,  clad 

m  a  loose,  purple  gown,  and  wearing  a  minute  scar- 

let  skull  cap. 

He  looked,  indeed,  as  though  his  life  were  nearly 
spent  ;  for,  though  his  dark  eyes  shone  bright  and 
penetrating  from  under  the  heavy  brows,  his  cheeks 
were  thin  and  sunken,  the  hue  of  wax,  and  his 
white  hands  were  transparent  and  discolored  be 
tween  the  knuckles.  Marcantonio  and  Diana  touched 
their  lips  to  the  great  sapphire  on  his  finger,  and 
then  the  old  man  laid  his  hand  on  the  head  of 
each  They  were  his  brother's  children,  and  he 
loved  them  dearly,  after  his  crabbed  old  fashion  ; 
for  all  the  Carantoni  are  people  of  heart  and  kind' 

•nooo 


ness. 


"My  dear  children,"  he  began,  when  they  were 
seated  by  his  side  on  straight-backed  chairs  that 
Marcantonio  brought  up  to  the  table,  —  «  my  dear 


TO  LEEWARD.  117 

children,  I  am  growing  very  old  and  infirm,  and  I 
wanted  to  see 'you  here  together  before  I  leave  you 
all."  A  kind  smile  played  fitfully  over  the  waxen 
features,  like  the  memory  of  life  that  haunts  a 
plaster  mask.  Diana  laid  her  fingers  gently  on  his 
arm,  and  Marcantonio  broke  out  into  solicitous  pro 
testations.  His  uncle  was  not  yet  sixty,  —  he  had 
many  years  of  lif e ,"  —  this  was  a  passing  indispo 
sition,  a  black  humor,  a  melancholy.  One  should 
never  expect  to  live  less  than  seventy  years  at  the 
very  least,  he  said,  and  that  would  not  be  reached 
for  a  long  time. 

"  Ah !  no,  dear  uncle,"  he  concluded,  "  you  will 
surely  live  to  see  my  sons  growing  up  to  be  men, 
and  to  marry  Diana's  little  girls  !  " 

The  cardinal  shook  his  head.  That  was  not  the 
way  of  it,  he  said.  He  might  die  any  day  now,  he 
said,  in  his  %meek  voice  ;  and  it  really  sounded  as 
if  he  might,  so  that  Donna  Diana  felt  her  eyes 
growing  dim  and  her  heart  big.  She  took  one  of 
the  old  man's  thin  hands  in  both  of  hers,  and  he 
with  the  other  pushed  back  the  rich,  heavy  hair  and 
smoothed  it  tenderly.  A  marvellous  picture  in 
sooth  they  made,  —  the  dying  prelate  in  his  purple 
and  scarlet,  and  the  great  unspeakable  freshness 
and  life  of  the  fair  woman.  Marcantonio  passed 
his  hand  over  his  eyes  and  sighed  as  he  sat  watch 
ing  them. 

Then  his  Eminence  explained  to  the  two  what 
his  chief  plan  was  in  calling  them  to  him  now.  He 
had  made  a  deed,  he  said,  which  he  wished  them 


118  TO  LEEWARD. 

both  to   understand.     There  were   certain  estates 

which  he  had  inherited  from  his  Bother, their 

grandmother,  —  as  being  the  second  son.  These 
he  earnestly  desired  to  see  incorporated  in  the  prop 
erty  of  the  Carantoni  family.  To  that  end  he  had 
made  an  act  of  gift,  transferring  the  lands  to  Marc- 
antonio  at  once,  on  the  condition  that  the  cardinal 
should  continue  to  receive  a  certain  income  from 
them  during  his  life.  This  he  insisted  upon  doing, 
as  he  feared  that  after  his  death  the  lands  would 
be  sold  by  the  executors  in  order  to  divide  the 
proceeds  between  the  two  heirs.  In  order  to  make 
the  present  arrangement  a  fair  one,  however,  he 
at  the  same  time  gave  to  his  niece  Diana  de  Char- 
leroi  a  sum  of  money  from  his  personal  estate  which 
was  equal  to  the  value  of  the  lands  given  to  Marc- 
antonio.  Whatever  they  found  after  his  death 
could  then  be  divided  and  distributed,  —  the  lands 
would  be  safe  in  tne  male  line ;  they  might  find 
something  left  after  all. 

Diana  protested;  she  was  very  glad  that  the 
lands  should  be  settled,  but  she  did  not  wish  to  ac 
cept  a  large  sum  of  money  in  that  way.  In  fact, 
she  begged  her  uncle  to  reconsider  the  matter.  As 
for  Marcantonio,  he  looked  grave  and  wished  him 
self  well  out  of  it.  He  was  practically  to  be  ad 
ministrator  of  his  uncle's  property  during  the  re 
mainder  of  the  latter's  lifetime,  and  he  did  not  like 
it.  However,  as  the  arrangement  was  for  the  ulti 
mate  good  of  his  children,  and  as  he  had  not 
Diana's  excuse  for  refusing  on  the  ground  of  not 


TO  LEEWARD.  119 

wishing  to  take  a  gift,  —  since  it  hardly  was  one, 
—  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  accept 
the  situation  with  a  good  grace. 

"  You  do  not  deserve  anything  at  all,  my  boy," 
said  the  cardinal,  half  kindly,  half  in  earnest,  "  be 
cause  you  married  a  heretic.  But  as  I  helped  you 
to  obtain  the  permission,  I  must  do  something  for 
you." 

"  But  I,"  said  Diana,  —  "I  cannot  take  all  this- 
It  is  not  fair  to  Marcantonio,  for  I  ought  to  pay 
you  the  income  of  it,  just  as  he  is  to  do." 

"  Nonsense,  figlia  mia"  said  the  old  man.  "  You 
need  money  more  than  he  does  or  ever  will,  with 
that  husband  of  yours,  who  is  always  going  from 
one  court  to  another  on  his  nonsensical  diplomatic 
errands.  Ah  !  my  children,  diplomacy  is  not  what 
it  used  to  be  !  Altri  tempi  —  alt-ri  tempi  !  " 

The  end  of  it  was  that  the  two  young  people 
agreed  to  their  uncle's  provisions,  and  he  insisted 
on  their  hearing  and  understanding  all  the  papers, 
to  which  end  he  sent  for  his  secretary,  a  wizened 
little  Roman  with  gray  hair  and  bright  eyes  and  a 
fondness  for  snuff  ;  and  the  secretary  read  on  for 
two  good  hours.  The  old  man  from  time  to  time 
nodded  his  head  to  Marcantonio  or  to  Diana,  as 
the  one  or  the  other  was  referred  to  in  the  doc 
uments,  and  waved  his  pale  thin  hand  in  appre 
ciation  of  the  completeness  and  simplicity  of  his 
arrangements.  At  last  the  various  deeds  were 
signed,  and  a  notary,  whom  the  .secretary  had  pro 
vided,  was  called  in  from  the  antechamber  where 


120  TO  LEEWARD. 

he  had  waited,  and  attested  the  signatures  and  the 
general  legality  of  the  proceedings.  -The  cardinal 
was  satisfied,  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  He  was 
one  of  those  old-fashioned  noblemen  who  still  be 
lieve  in  the  divine  right  of  primogeniture  and  in 
the  respectability  of  land  as  a  possession.  With 
the  modern  laws  concerning  the  division  of  estates, 
-  the  keen  Napoleonic  knives  that  cut  the  strings 
of  succession  at  every  knot,  —  these  conservative 
aristocrats  have  infinite  trouble;  but  they  gen 
erally  manage  to  evade  the  spirit  of  the  law,  and 
to  conform  as  little  to  the  letter  of  it  as  they  can. 

"  Cara  mia,  one  must  submit,"  said  Marcantonio 
to  his  sister,  when  they  were  alone  together.  "  Old 
men  have  strange  fancies,  and  he  has  always  been 
good  to  us.  What  he  said  about  my  marriage  was 
quite  true.  If  he  had  not  helped  me,  I  should 
have  made  a  fiasco  of  it,  —  or  done  something 
rash." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Diana,  thoughtfully.  "  By 
the  bye,  are  you  comfortable  at  Sorrento  ?  How  is 
Leonora  ?  "  She  was  rather  ashamed  of  not  hav 
ing  asked  the  question  before,  but  Marcantonio  was 
good-natured,  and  was  glad  that  she  had  not  said 
anything  hard.  And,  of  course,  the  moment  she 
mentioned  his  wife,  he  was  delighted  at  the  chance 
to  speak  of  what  was  nearest  to  his  heart. 

"  Leonora  is  well  and  more  than  well,  Diana 
mia,"  he  answered.  "Ah,  she  is  an  angel!  She 
has  not  read  any  philosophy  since  we  married,  — 
imagine  !  And  she  was  crazy  to  come  with  me  to 


TO  LEE  WARD.  121 

Eome  —  in  this  heat !  —  because  she  did  not  want 
to  stay  in  Sorrento  alone  without  me." 

"  Why  did  you  not  let  her  come,  then  ?  "  asked 
Donna  Diana. 

"  She  was  tired,"  he  said,  "  and  as  I  told  her 
how  fatiguing  it  was,  she  made  up  her  mind  to 
«tay.  I  shall  go  back  to-morrow,  I  suppose.  I 
wish  I  could  go  to-night." 

"  So  soon  ?  "  asked  Diana.  "  But  I  have  seen 
nothing  of  you,  dear  boy !  " 

"Why  not  come  with  me  to  Sorrento?  Do 
come,  —  there  is  room  for  us  all,  and  for  all  your 
servants  into  the  bargain,  if  you  like  to  bring 
them."  Marcantonio  was  charmed  with  his  idea ; 
it  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 
Besides,  he  had  longed  for  an  opportunity  of  bring 
ing  Diana  and, Leonora  together.  He  was  quite 
sure  they  would  become  bosom  friends.  Diana 
hung  back,  however,  and  was  tess  enthusiastic. 

"  I  do  not  see  how  I  could  manage  it,"  she  said. 
"  I  have  so  many  things  to  do,  and  I  must  go  back 
to  Pegli,  before  long."  Marcantonio  sat  down  be 
side  her  and  took  her  hand  affectionately. 

"  Oara  Diana,"  he  said  coaxingly,  "  will  you  not 
come  and  make  friends  with  Leonora?  It  would 
be  so  kind  of  you,  and  she  would  feel  it  so  much  !  " 

Madame  de  Charleroi  hesitated ;  not  so  much  on 
account  of  her  reluctance  to  stay  with  Leonora 
as  because  she  knew  that  Julius  Batiscombe  was 
somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  Naples.  She 
avoided  him  always,  though  she  was  his  best  and 


122  TO  LEEWARD. 

most  faithful  friend  ;  for  though  she  had  loved  him 
once,  there  was  not  a  trace  of  that  left  in  her  heart, 
and  yet  she  knew  well  enough  that  he  loved  her 
still.  Her  high  and  noble  nature  could  not  under 
stand  so  earthly  a  man  as  he  ;  she  could  not  con 
ceive  how  it  was  that  through  all  his  many  affairs 
he  still  looked  on  her  as  the  one  woman  in  the 
world ;  but  nevertheless  she  knew  that  it  was  so, 
and  she  therefore  avoided  him,  not  wishing  to  fan 
a  hopeless  passion.  He  came  to  see  her  sometimes, 
and  she  was  very  kind  to  him,  giving  him  the  best 
of  advice,  but  she  never  encouraged  him  to  come. 
So  she  was  not  anxious  to  meet  him.  But  the 
question  of  her  relations  with  her  brother  in  the 
future  seemed  to  make  it  now  desirable  that  she 
should  go  with  him  and  "  make  friends  "  with  his 
wife,  as  he  expressed  it. 

"  Well,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  will  go  with  you, 
and  do  what  you  wish." 

Marcantonio  was  very  grateful.  He  felt  that  his 
young  wife  must  have  friends  —  young  wives  have 
so  few  —  and  he  could  desire  no  better  friend  for 
her  than  his  sister,  the  model  of  all  goodness, 
gentleness,  and  honor. 

"  Dearest  sister,"  he  said,  "  you  are  so  good ! 
And  if  you  have  much  to  do  here,  I  can  put  off 
going  for  a  day,  you  know.  You  can  do  your  little 
errands  in  a  day,  can  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  might,  perhaps,"  said  she  ;  "  but  must  you 
not  take  some  steps  about  all  this  land  of  yours  — 
or  of  our  uncle's  ?  Do  you  realize  what  a  position 


TO  LEEWARD.  123 

you  have  assumed,  my  dear  boy  ?  From  this  day 
you  are  absolutely  master  of  the  estate,  if  you  like, 
—  but  you  are  also  absolutely  responsible  for  the 
payment  of  the  income.  You  positively  must  see 
the  lawyers  about  it,  and  you  may  as  well  see  them 
at  once." 

"  It  is  not  the  whole  income  of  the  place  that  he 
takes,"  remarked  Marcantonio. 

"  That  makes  no  difference,"  said  Diana.  "  If 
you  were  to  have  it  all,  it  would  be  the  same.  You 
are  bound  to  take  care  of  it.  Your  own  lawyer 
knows  nothing  about  this  transaction.  You  may 
not  be  in  Rome  again  for  three  months.  Make 
some  provision  for  your  absence.  Who  is  to  col 
lect  your  rents,  in  the  first  place  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  somebody  would,"  said  Marcantonio 
laughing.  "  But  you  have  a  much  better  head  for 
business  than  I,  Diana  mia.  Perhaps  you  are 
right." 

"You  manage  things  very  well,  caro  mio,  so 
long  as  they  are  under  your  hand.  But  you  hate 
to  go  and  look  after  business  when  you  want  to  be 
doing  something  else." 

"  After  all,"  he  argued,  "  when  a  man  is  just 
married  "  — 

"  He  ought  to  be  specially  careful  of  his  affairs, 
for  his  children's  sake,"  interrupted  Donna  Diana 
with  remarkable  good  sense.  She  wanted  a  day  or 
two  in  Rome,  and  she  thought  he  was  really  remiss 
in  his  management.  She  had  rather  a  contempt 
for  a  man  who  cast  everything  to  the  winds  in 


124  TO  LEEWARD. 

order  to  be  one  more  day  with  his  wife.  She  did 
not  believe  that  his  wife  would  have  done  as  much 
for  him. 

The  end  of  it  was  that  he  agreed  to  stay  a  little 
longer,  at  least  one  day  more  than  he  had  at  first 
proposed;  and  he  wrote  an  affectionate  letter  to 
Leonora,  half  loving,  half  playful,  explaining  his 
position,  and  telling  her  of  his  sister's  coming,  that 
she  might  be  ready  to  receive  her.  He  added  that  he 
hoped  to  see  them  very  affectionate  and  intimate,  for 
that  Diana  was  the  best  friend  his  wife  could  have. 
If  Batiscombe  had  wanted  to  make  a  friendship 
between  two  women  he  would  not  have  gone  about 
it  in  that  way.  Marcantonio  was  very  young  and 
inexperienced,  though  he  was  also  very  good  and 
honest.  His  sister  saw  both  sides  of  his  charac 
ter  and  understood  them.  Leonora  saw,  but  only 
understood  the  honesty  of  him.  His  inexperience 
she  supposed  to  be  a  sort  of  paternal,  philistine, 
prosaic,  humdrum  capacity  for  harping  on  un 
important  things,  and  she  already  felt  the  most  dis 
tinct  aversion  for  that  phase  of  his  nature. 

JDiana  and  Marcantonio  went  down  by  the  night 
train,  having  stayed  the  better  half  of  a  week  in 
Rome.  Marcantonio  sent  a  telegram  to  Leonora 
in  the  afternoon,  to  say  that  they  would  come. 
They  had  a  compartment  to  themselves,  and  as 
they  sat  with  the  windows  all  open,  rushing  along 
through  the  quiet  night,  they  fell  into  conversation 
about  Sorrento.  Madame  de  Charleroi  had  taken 
off  her  hat,  and  the  breeze  fanned  the  smooth 


TO  LEEWARD.  125 

masses  of  her  hair  into  rough  geld  under  the  light 
of  the  lamp,  like  the  ripple  on  the  sea  at  sunset. 
She  was  a  little  tired  with  the  many  doings  that 
had  occupied  her  in  Rome,  and  her  face  was  pale  as 
she  leaned  back  in  the  corner.  Her  brother  looked 
at  her  as  he  spoke.  "  Of  course,"  he  thought, 
"  there  was  never  any  one  so  beautiful  as  Diana." 
What  he  said  was  different. 

"  You  should  see  Leonora ;  she  is  a  perfect  mir 
acle,  —  more  beautiful  every  day.  And  though  she 
has  been  on  the  water  several  times,  she  is  not  the 
least  sunburnt." 

"Have  you  sailed  much?"  inquired  Diana. 

"  A  good  deal.  I  bought  Leonora  a  very  good 
boat  in  Naples,  and  had  it  fitted.  It  is  so  pretty. 
And  before  it  came  Monsieur  Batiscombe  took  us 
to  Castellamare." 

"  Ah ! "  ejaculated  Diana  half  interrogatively. 
She  was  prepared  for  the  news  that  he  was  at  Sor 
rento,  for  she  had  known  that  he  was  in  the  neigh-1 
borhood. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Marcantonio.  "  He  was  very 
amiable,  and  then  we  had  him  to  dinner.  You 
know  him,  Diana  ?  "  he  asked,  as  one  often  asks 
questions  of  which  one  knows  the  answer.  He  did 
not  remember  having  ever  mentioned  Batiscombe 
to  her,  but  his  solitary  journey  to  Rome  a  week  be 
fore  had  set  him  thinking,  in  a  lazy  fashion,  and  he 
wondered  whether  his  sister  ever  thought  of  the 
man  after  all  these  years. 

"  Oh  yes,"  answered  Madame  de  Charleroi.     "  I 


126  TO  LEEWARD. 

have  known  Batiscombe  a  long  time,  —  long  before 
he  was  famous." 

''  Yes,"  said  her  brother,  "  I  remember  to  have 
heard  that  he  was  once  so  bold  as  to  want  you  to 
marry  him.  Imagine  to  yourself  a  little!  The 
wife  of  an  author."  There  was  nothing  ill-natured 
in  what  Marcantonio  said.  In  the  prejudice  of  his 
ancient  name  he  was  simply  unable  to  imagine  such 
a  match.  Diana  turned  her  gray  eyes  full  upon 
him. 

"  My  dear  boy,  do  not  say  such  absurd  things. 
We  are  not  in  the  age  of  Colonna  and  Orsini  any 
more.  I  came  very  near  to  marrying  Julius  Batis 
combe,  in  spite  of  your  fifty  titles,  my  dear  brother." 
Diana  was  a  loyal  woman,  from  the  outer  surface 
that  the  world  saw,  down  to  the  very  core  and  holy 
of  holies  of  her  noble  soul.  She  would  not  let  her 
brother  believe  that,  if  she  had  chosen  it,  she  would 
have  feared  to  marry  a  poor  literary  hack. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Diana,  that  you  loved 
him  ?  "  asked  Marcantonio  in  great  surprise. 

"  Even  you  must  not  ask  me  questions  like  that," 
said  Diana,  a  little  coldly.  "But  this  I  will  tell 
you,  —  it  was  not  for  any  consideration  of  birth, 
nor  out  of  any  regard  of  our  dear  father's  anger, 
that  I  did  not  marry  Batiscombe.  Once  I  was  very 
near  it.  We  are  very  good  friends  now."  She 
turned  a  little  in  her  seat  and  drew  the  blue  woollen 
curtain  across  the  window  to  shield  her  from  the 
draught. 

"  You  do  not  mind  meeting  him  ?  "  asked  Marc- 


TO  LEEWARD.  127 

antonio,  rather  doubtfully.  To  tell  the  truth  he 
feared  he  had  committed  a  mortal  error,  and  was 
taking  his  sister  into  the  jaws  of  danger  and 
unhappiness.  He  had  never  suspected  that  she 
had  entertained  any  idea  of  marrying  Batiscombe. 
Julius  was  a  very  agreeable  man,  very  amiable, 
as  Marcantonio  would  have  said.  What  a  fearful 
thing  if  Diana  were  to  take  a  fancy  to  him  !  Loyal 
as  she  was  to  Charleroi,  she  did  not  care  a  straw 
for  him,  —  her  brother  knew  it  very  well.  Italian 
brothers  are  very  watchful  and  Argus-eyed  about 
their  sisters. 

"  Why  should  I  mind  ?  "  asked  Diana,  looking 
at  him  again.  "  We  are  very  good  friends.  He 
comes  to  see  me  in  Rome,  every  now  and  then.  I 
do  not  object  in  the  least,  and  he  is  really  very 
agreeable*" 

"  Worse  and  worse  !  "  thought  Marcantonio. 
"  She  wants  to  meet  him  and  is  glad  of  the  chance. 
But  then,  she  is  so  good  —  what  harm  can  it  do?" 
Between  his  idea  that  he  ought  to  keep  them  apart, 
and  his  knowledge  of  his  sister's  noble  and  upright 
character,  Marcantonio  was  in  a  sad  quandary.  It 
always  took  him  some  time  to  grasp  new  situations, 
—  and  the  idea  that  Diana  had  ever  loved  Batis 
combe  was  utterly  new  to  him.  True,  she  had  not 
said  it ;  she  had  only  said  she  had  been  near  to 
marrying  him. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WHEN  Leonora  was  alone,  she  resolved  to  have 
a  good  fit  of  thinking.  Accordingly,  the  next 
morning  after  Marcantonio's  departure  she  sat  by 
herself  in  a  cool  room,  surrounded  with  books  and 
dainty  writing  materials,  —  thinking.  The  little 
white  cat  that  her  husband  procured,  because  she 
liked  animals,  climbed  to  the  back  of  her  chair 
and  made  passes  at  her  head  with  its  small,  soft 
paws,  seeming  to  delight  in  touching  her.  She  put 
up  her  hand  and  pulled  the  little  creature  down  to 
her  lap. 

"  Pussy,"  said  she,  talking  English  to  it,  "  were 
you  ever  in  love?  "     She  kissed  it  softly  and  held 
it  up  to  her  fair  cheek.     "I  wonder  what  it  is 
like,"   she   said   to  herself.      "I  wonder   whether 
being  in  love  is  always  like  this  !    People  who  lovo 
always  say  they  would  die  for  each  other.     I  am 
not   sure  whether   I   would  die  for  Marcantonio. 
He   is   very  good.     Yes  —  of  course  —  one's  hus 
band  !     Any  woman  would  die  for  her  husband. 
And  yet  —  if  the  knife  were  very  sharp  and  cold, 
—  or  the  poison  very  dreadful  to  take,  —  I  am  not 
sure.     Perhaps  there  would  be  some  other  way  out 
of  it,  and  one  would  not  have  to  die  after  all." 
Poor  Leonora,  she  made  herself  think  she  loved 


TO  LEEWARD.  129 

him,  and  then  she  would  apply  all  kinds  of  tests  to 
her  love  which  it  would  not  bear,  being  but  a  very 
thin  and  pitiful  little  ghost  of  a  love. 

"  I  really  believe,"  she  said  at  last,  kissing  the 
cat  and  half  closing  her  eyes,  "that  there  is  not 
anything  much  in  anything  after  all.  Things  are 
not  much  more  real  than  the  shadows  in  the  cave 
that  Plato  talks  about.  Oh  dear  me !  And  then 
to  have  people  think  that  one  is  clever!  They 
have  such  an  absurd  idea  about  it,  —  Marcantonio, 
I  mean.  Of  course  it  is  the  nicest  thing  in  the 
world  to  be  loved  more  than  one  deserves,  —  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  is  just  as  terrible  a  bore  to 
have  other  people  forever  thinking  you  really 
worth  more  than  you  are.  And  then,  to  have  him 
think  that  my  little  bit  of  knowledge  is  dangerous  ! 
As  if  so  very  little  could  help  or  hurt  any  one  !  I 
must  know  a  great  deal  more  before  it  will  do  me 
any  good.  I  think  I  will  read  something  hard  to 
day,  —  how  pleasant  it  is  to  be  alone  !  " 

The  last  reflection  came  quite  naturally,  and  she 
did  not  even  pause  and  think  about  it,  the  sudden 
interest  she  anticipated  in  reading  having  chased 
away  the  dutifully  affectionate  ideas  she  made  it 
her  business  to  build  up  concerning  her  husband. 
With  characteristic  quickness  of  determination  she 
rose,  got  herself  a  volume  of  Hegel's  "  ^Esthetics," 
and  buried  her  whole  mind  in  the  question  of  sub 
jective  and  objective  art. 

To  a  woman  —  or  a  man  either  —  who  has  not 
what  is  called  an  interest  in  life,  all  manner  of 


130  TO  LEEWARD. 

things  take  temporarily  the  place  which  should  be 
occupied  by  the  leading,  absorbing  thought.     The 
things    that   are    but  relaxations,  amusements,   or 
even  unimportant   bits   of  usefulness  to  the  thor 
oughly  busy  woman,  to  a  woman  like  Leonora  be 
come  in  turn  objects  of  intense  study  and  care,  only 
to  be  cast  aside  and  forgotten  when  the  next  day 
brings  in  a  new  era  of  speculation,  weariness,  or 
excitement.     It   is   good   to   read   many  kinds  of 
books,  it  is  good  to  do  many  pleasant  and  agree 
able  things,  but  it  is  emphatically  not  good  to  think 
many  kinds  of  thoughts.     If  a  woman  must  change 
her  opinions,  it  is  well  that  the  change  should  be 
gradual  and  the  result  of  careful  study  and  exam 
ination,   instead  of  taking  place  according  to  the 
weather,  the  cut  of  a  gown,  or  the  conversation  of 
a  stray  caller.     Men  change  their  minds  as  com 
pletely  as  women,  but  not  so  often,  and  above  all 
not  so  quickly.     To  be  unchangeable  is  the  quality 
of  the  idiot ;  to  change  too  easily  belongs  to  chil 
dren  and  lunatics ;  and  the  happy  faculty  of  a  sen 
sible  judgment  permitting  a  change  for  the  better 
and  forbidding  a  change  for  the  worse  is  the  high 
privilege  of  the  comparatively  small  class  of  human 
ity  who  are  neither  fools  nor  madmen. 

With  Leonora  to  live  was  to  change,  and  to 
change  often.  Brimming  over  and  exulting  in 
strength  of  physical  life,  neither  her  mind  nor  her 
nerves  could  keep  pace  with  her  vitality,  and  the 
result  was  the  inevitable  one.  After  great  excite 
ment  there  was  morbid  reaction,  and  in  the  state 


TO  LEEWARD.  131 

of  rest  there  was  a  restless,  insatiable  craving  for 
motion.  A  strong  man,  ruthlessly  ruling  her  by 
sheer  superiority  of  massive  power,  would  have 
brought  out  all  that  was  best  in  her,  and  would 
have  driven  her  to  her  very  best  weapons  for  de 
fence.  But  her  husband  was  quite  another  sort  of 
person.  His  love  for  her  was  by  far  the  best  thing 
about  him ;  save  for  that,  he  was  not  an  interest 
ing  man.  He  was  young  and  very  tactless,  though 
full  of  good  impulses  and  gentle  courtesy  to  her 
and  to  every  one.  But  he  wearied  her  with  useless 
details,  and  made  her  doubt  whether  his  affection 
ate  manner  meant  love  or  mere  good  breeding. 
He  had  an  entire  incapacity  for  making  any  one 
believe  that  he  was  capable  of  great  things.  His 
sister  knew  how  real  was  his  goodness  of  heart 
and  how  generous  he  could  be,  and  she  knew  also 
how  much  he  loved  his  wife.  But  she  had  no 
power  to  put  into  him  the  passionate,  burning  ro 
mance  which  was  precisely  what  Leonora  most 
longed  for ;  and  Diana  did  not  believe  that  such  a 
woman  as  Leonora  would  long  be  satisfied  with 
such  a  husband  as  Marcantonio. 

Meanwhile  the  day  wore  on,  and  she  read  seri 
ously,  and  had  her  midday  breakfast  in  solitude 
and  tried  to  read  again.  But  by  and  by  she  nod 
ded  over  her  book  and  fell  asleep  in  the  humming 
heat  of  the  summer's  afternoon.  As  she  slept  she 
dreamed  of  a  strong,  black-browed  man  who  kneeled 
there  beside  her  in  her  own  house,  and  who  pres 
ently  took  her  in  his  arms  and  bore  her  fast  down 


132  TO  LEEWARD. 

the  dark  stairs  and  passages  through  the  rocks  to 
the  sea,  where  a  boat  lay ;  and  as  he  parried  her 
his  -eyes  gleamed  like  burning  stars,  and  she  felt 
that  her  own  grew  big  and  bright.  And  suddenly 
he  would  have  leapt  into  the  boat  with  her,  but  he 
stumbled  and  fell,  and  she  heard  the  deep  roar  of 
the  waters  in  her  ears  as  they  sank  together. 

She  woke  with  a  start.  The  white  cat  had 
climbed  up  and  lay  on  her  shoulder,  purring  with 
all  its  might.  That  was  evidently  where  the  sound 
of  the  sea  came  from.  She  laughed,  a  little  startled 
at  the  dream  and  amused  at  its  cause.  It  had  been 
so  strange  —  so  —  so  wicked.  She  was  shocked. 
How  could  her  thoughts,  of  themselves  unaided, 
have  gone  to  such  a  subject !  Besides,  it  was  not 
the  first  time.  She  had  dreamed  of  Julius  Batis- 
combe  before,  and  always  of  that  strange  look  in 
his  eyes,  gleaming  wildly  with  something  she  could 
not  understand. 

"It  is  dreadful!  "  she  exclaimed,  rising  and  go 
ing  to  the  window.  She  had  slept  long,  for  the 
sun  was  low,  and  when  she  looked  at  her  watch  it 
was  six  o'clock.  She  reflected  that  she  had  not 
been  out  all  day,  and  that  she  wanted  a  walk.  She 
wrapped  something  thin  and  dark  over  her  white 
summer  dress  and  left  the  house.  The  white  kit 
ten  followed  her  to  the  door,  mewing  sorrowfully, 
and  wistfully  waving  its  little  tail. 

She  walked  slowly  down  the  road  musing  on  the 
odd  thing  she  had  dreamed,  and  seeking  in  her 
mind  for  the  reason  and  cause  of  it,  finding  fault 


TO  LEEWARD.  133 

with  herself  for  being  able  to  dream  such  things. 
It  is  one  thing  to  be  able  to  call  up  images  of  ideal 
men,  and  to  tell  the  truth  she  strove  even  against 
that ;  but  it  is  quite  another  matter  to  find  one 
particular  man  so  much  in  your  thoughts  that  you 
dream  of  his  running  away  with  you. 

She  looked  up,  and  a  little  church  was  before 
her,  the  door  being  open.  She  hesitated  a  moment ; 
she  had  come  out  to  walk,  but  it  would  be  so  pleas 
ant  to  kneel  in  the  cool,  quiet  place,  in  the  half 
lights  and  deep  shadows ;  to  think,  and  think,  and 
to  pray  sweet  wordless  heart-prayers,  half  mystic, 
half  religious ;  to  pour  out  the  confessions  of  her 
soul's  suffering,  and  to  find,  even  for  a  brief  space, 
that  trust  in  something  unseen,  which  her  troubled 
spirit  could  not  give  to  earthly  wisdom  or  earthly 
love.  She  raised  the  curtain  and  enteredo 

It  was  a  simple  little  church,  with  a  floor  of 
green  and  white  tiles,  whereon  stood  rows  of  green 
benches  and  a  few  straw  chairs.  The  light  was 
high,  and  the  sun  did  not  penetrate  into  the  build 
ing.  Everything  was  very  clean  and  cool.  Over 
the  altar  was -a  great  picture,  neither  bad  nor  good, 
of  a  monk  saint,  dark  in  color  and  inoffensive  in 
composition ;  there  were  two  or  three  small  chapels 
at  the  sides,  and  the  plain  white  arch  of  the  roof  was 
supported  by  two  rows  of  square  masonry  pillars. 

When  Leonora  entered  she  saw  that  she  was 
alone,  and  the  anticipated  pleasure  of  religious  ex 
altation  was  heightened  by  the  sensation  of  solitude. 
She  stood  one  moment,  and  then,  being  sure  that 


134  TO  LEEWARD. 

no  one  saw  her,  she  touched  her  fingers  to  the  holy 
water  in  the  basin  by  the  door  and  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  bending  her  knee  slightly  towards  the 
altar.  Had  there  been  any  one  in  the  church  she 
would  perhaps  not  have  done  so ;  but  being  alone 
she  loved  to  experience  the  forms  of  a  religion  in 
which  she  did  not  seriously  believe,  but  in  which 
she  trusted  far  more  than  she  knew.  She  went 
forward,  took  a  straw  chair,  turned  it  round  and 
kneeled  on  the  tiles,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands. 
At  first,  as  she  knelt  there,  she  trembled  with  a 
strange  emotion  that  she  loved,  —  a  sort  of  wave  of 
contrition,  of  faith,  of  penitence,  and  of  uncertainty, 
half  painful  and  yet  wholly  delicious,  that  seemed 
to  her  the  sweetest  and  most  salutary  sensation  in 
the  world.  It  was  just  painful  enough  to  make  the 
pleasure  of  it  keener  and  rarer.  She  could  not 
have  described  it,  but  she  loved  it  and  sought  it, 
when  she  was  in  the  humor.  Gradually  her  troubles, 
real  and  fancied,  would  answer  to  her  command, 
and  array  themselves  in  rank  and  file  for  her  in 
spection  ;  the  domestic  difficulties,  small  and  snap 
pish  little  knots  of  mosquito-like  annoyance,  biting 
tiny  bites  to  right  and  left,  and  with  little  stings 
stinging  their  way  to  notice  in  the  foreground ;  then 
the  troubles  of  the  heart,  the  temptations  of  a  wild, 
unspoken  and  ideal  love,  streaming  by  her  in  the 
sweep  of  tempest  and  storm,' stretching  out  sweet 
faces  and  fierce  hands  to  take  her  with  them,  and 
to  bear  her  away  from  hope  of  salvation  or  thought 
of  heaven  to  the  strange  unknown  space  beyond ; 


TO  LEEWARD.  135 

then  regain  the  shapeless  and  awful  host  of  her  fan 
cied  philosophies,  now  towering  in  fearful  strength 
and  menace  to  the  sky,  and  rending  and  tearing 
each  other  to  empty  nothing  and  howling  hollow- 
ness,  now  falling  down  to  earth  in  miserable  shapes 
and  slinking  insignificantly  away ;  but  last  and 
worst  of  all,  there  was  a  deep  dark  shadow,  tho  trou 
ble  of  her  heart,  the  certainty  that  she  had  made  the 
great  mistake  and  done  the  irretrievable  sin  against 
truth,  that  she  had  married  a  man  she  could  never 
love,  but  whom  —  God  forbid  the  thought !  —  whom 
she  might  hate  for  the  very  lack  he  had  of  any 
thing  that  could  deserve  hating.  And  then  all  the 
pleasure  of  her  exultation  was  gone ;  and  the  dull, 
uncertain  pain,  that  would  not  take  shape  because 
it  had  no  remedy,  filled  all  her  soul  and  mind  and 
body;  she  had  never  felt  it  as  she  felt  it  to-day, but 
she  knew  that  each  time  she  came  to  the  church  to 
let  her  heart  talk  to  her  in  the  silence,  this  same 
pain  had  come,  sooner  or  later,  and  that  each  time 
it  was  stronger  and  more  real.  She  bent  low  under 
its  weight,  and  the  tears  gathered  and  fell  upon  her 
hands  and  on  the  rough  straw  chair. 

Julius  Batiscombe  had  passed  the  day  after  the 
dinner  in  his  boat,  sailing  far  out  to  sea  in  the 
early  morning,  among  the  crested  waves  and  the 
dancing  sunbeams,  smelling  the  salt  smell  gladly, 
and  enjoying  the  sharp,  cool  spray  that  flew  up  over 
the  bows.  And  at  noon,  when  the  west  wind  sprang 
up,  he  went  about  and  ran  homewards  over  the 


136  TO  LEEWARD. 

rolling  water.  All  that  day  he  was  thinking  of 
Leonora,  but  he  was  persuading  himsolf  that  he 
could  and  would  make  her  his  friend,  and  that  the 
sudden  attraction  he  had  felt  for  her  was  nothing 
but  a  little  natural  sympathy  of  minds  striving  to 
assert  itself. 

He  found  these  thoughts  so  agreeable  and  edify 
ing  that  he  determined  to  repeat  the  experience  on 
the  following  day,  and  test  their  reality  by  their 
durability.  But  somehow  the  hours  seemed  longer, 
and  before  the  wind  turned,  as  it  does  every  day  in 
summer  on  the  southern  coast,  he  put  the  helm 
down,  furled  sail,  and  bade  his  men  pull  home.  He 
was  discontented,  and,  having  no  one  but  himself 
to  consult,  he  thought  he  would  try  something  else. 
Once  in  his  room  at  the  hotel  he  tried  to  sleep,  but 
he  could  not ;  he  tried  to  read,  but  everything  dis 
gusted  him  ;  he  tried  to  write,  and  wrote  nonsense. 
At  six  o'clock  he  went  out  for  a  walk.  It  was  not 
unnatural,  perhaps,  that  he  should  take  the  road 
toward  Leonora's  villa,,  between  the  high  walls  of 
the  narrow  lanes,  for  it  was  still  hot,  and  the  dust 
lay  thick  in  the  road.  Besides,  he  knew  that  Leo 
nora  was  away,  and  that  consequently  there  would 
not  be  the  temptation  to  call  upon  her.  For  in 
spite  of  his  visions  of  friendship,  he  felt  an  instinc 
tive  conviction  that  he  ought  not  to  see  her.  Con 
sequently,  as  he  strolled  along  the  road,  smoking 
a  cigarette  and  studying  the  extremely  varied 
types  of  the  Sorrento  beggar,  he  was  conscious  of  a 
comforting  assurance  that  he  was  not  in  mischief. 


TO  LEEWARD.  137 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  he  was  passing  the 
gate  of  the  Carantoni  villa.  He  stopped  a  moment 
to  look  at  the  little  vision  of  flowers  and  orange- 
trees  that  gleamed  so  pleasantly  through  the  iron 
rails,  in  contrast  to  the  dead  monotony  of  stone 
walls  in  the  lane.  A  servant  was  coming  toward 
the  gate,  and  seeing  Batiscombe  standing  there, 
opened  it  wide  and  took  off  his  hat.  Batiscombe 
carelessly  asked  if  the  Signora  Marchesa  was  at 
home,  expecting  to  be  told  that  she  was  gone  to 
Rome. 

"  No,  signore,"  returned  the  man  ;  "  the  Signora 
Marchesa  is  this  minute  gone  out,  it  may  be  a  quar 
ter  of  an  hour.  Your  excellency  "  —  everybody  is 
an  excellency  in  the  south  —  "  will  probably  find 
her  in  the  little  church  along  the  road,  where  she 
often  goes."  The  man  bowed,  and  Batiscombe 
turned  on  his  heel,  not  wishing  to  talk  with  him. 
But  he  turned  toward  the  church. 

He  walked  very  slowly,  as  though  in  hopes  that 
Leonora  would  meet  him  as  she  came  home  ;  and 
when  he  came  to  the  door  he  stopped,  as  she  had 
done,  hesitated,  and  went  in.  He  trod  softly,  as 
Marcantonio  had  more  than  once  observed,  and  he 
did  not  disturb  the  silence  of  the  place.  He  stood 
still,  holding  his  breath,  and  knowing  that  he  ought 
not  to  stay,  but  unable  for  his  very  life  to  move. 
His  overhanging  brow  bent  as  he  watched  her,  and 
a  curious  look  crossed  his  bronzed  face,  as  though 

£5 

he  were  pained,  but  felt  both  sympathy  and  pity 
for  the  kneeling  woman.     The    dead   silence,  the 


138  TO  LEEWARD. 

cold  light  from  above,  the  half-prostrate  figure  of 
Leonora  clad  in  white  with  the  dark  lace  thing 
just  falling  from  her  splendid  hair,  —  it  all  seemed 
like  a  strange  scene  in  a  play,  and  Julius  looked  for 
the  sake  of  looking,  while  his  heart  felt  something 
deeper  than  the  artistic  impression. 

Leonora  was  bending  low  upon  the  seat  of  the 
straw  chair,  the  bitter  tears  trickling  down  through 
her  white  fingers,  and  her  whole  life  within  her 
convulsed  in  the  consciousness  of  sorrow  It  had 
so  long  been  vague — this  sad  knowledge  of  an  evil 
ever  present,  and  yet  ever  eluding  her  attempts  to 
see  it  and  understand  it.  But  now  it  had  come 
upon  her  suddenly.  After  two  months  of  wedded 
life  she  knew  that  she  had  made  a  mistake  beyond 
all  repairing.  She  had  tried  hard  to  love  Marcan- 
tonio,  she  had  tried  hard  to  believe  that  she  loved 
him,  but  the  deception  could  not  last  in  her,  and  yet 
it  seemed  death  to  lose  it.  Sometimes  she  could 
think  almost  indifferently  of  her  marriage,  talkino* 
to  herself,  and  asking  questions  of  which  she  know 
the  answer,  but  to  which  she  hoped  to  find  another. 
Did  she  love  him  ?  she  would  ask  at  such  moments ; 
and  she  would  answer  that  she  thought  so,  well 
knowing  that  whatever  real  love  might  be,  it  was 
not  what  she  felt  for  him.  But  to-day  it  seemed 
as  though  the  veil  were  torn  and  she  saw  the  dread 
ful  truth.  He  had  left  her  for  a  day  or  two,  and 
she  had  said  it  was  so  pleasant  to  be  alone.  That 
was  not  love  —  ah,  no  !  And  that  dreadful  dream, 
too,  that  haunted  her  still ;  it  kept  returning,  with 


TO   LEEWARD.  139 

its  sinful  face,  the  face  of  Julius  Batiscombe.  The 
whole  unfaithfulness  of  herself  to  herself  rushed 
upon  her  overwhelmingly,  relentlessly,  till  she 
could  not  bear  it,  but  bowed  herself  and  sobbed 
aloud  before  the  altar. 

There  was  a  slight  noise  behind  her,  and  with  an 
effort  she  controlled  herself,  rose  till  she  kneeled 
upright  and  merely  bent  her  head  upon  her  hands, 
drawing  the  back  of  the  chair  towards  her  in  the 
act.  She  had  been  disturbed,  and  the  sense  of  an 
noyance  overmastered  the  expression  of  her  trouble 
for  a  moment.  Gradually  the  consciousness  of  a 
presence  took  possession  of  her,  and  she  knew  that 
some. one  was  watching  her  ;  she  grew  uneasy,  tried 
to  repeat  a  prayer  mechanically  for  the  sake  of 
thinking  of  something  definite,  failed,  smoothed 
her  hair  half  surreptitiously  with  one  hand,  and 
finally  rose  from  her  knees.  As  she  turned  to  leave 
the  church  she  met  Julius  Batiscombe's  eyes,  and 
she  started  perceptibly.  It  was  so  precisely  the  ex 
pression  she  had  seen  in  her  dream,  little  more  than 
an  hour  before,  that  she  was  fairly  frightened,  and 
would  have  turned  and  fled  had  there  been  any 
other  way  out.  But  when  she  looked  again  she 
saw  something  that  reassured  her.  There  was  that 
which  attracted,  as  well  as  that  which  frightened 
her.  She  had  the  length  of  the  church  to  walk, 
and  she  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  not  show 
that  she  was  surprised,  and  would  behave  as  though 
nothing  had  happened.  For  she  was  a  strong  wo 
man  in  such  ways,  and  could  rely  upon  herself  if 


140  TO  LEEWARD. 

not  taken  too  much  off  her  guard.  Meanwhile 
Batiscombe  looked  on  the  ground ;  for  he  was  often 
conscious  of  the  too  great  boldness  of  his  sight, 
and  knew  that  it  must  be  disagreeable  to  her.  So 
he  moved  a  step  or  two,  hat  in  hand,  waiting  for 
Leonora  to  pass  him,  and  prepared  to  follow  if  she 
showed  any  sign  of  wishing  it.  He  feared,  how 
ever,  that  he  had  offended  her  by  his  inopportune 
appearance,  and  he  was  prepared  for  a  repulse. 
Nevertheless,  after  the  first  start  was  over,  she 
came  boldly  towards  him,  smiling  rather  sadly  and 
looking  wonderfully  beautiful;  for  the  tears  only 
made  her  eyes  softer  and  deeper,  leaving  a  gentle 
shadow  in  them,  just  as  the  sea  is  bluer  and  pleas- 
anter  in  its  blueness  beneath  the  shade  of  an  over 
hanging  cliff.  She  smiled,  and  passing  out  half 
looked  at  him  again  as  he  lifted  the  green  curtain 
for  her.  He  smiled  again,  gravely,  and  followed 
her.  When  they  were  on  the  steps,  he  bowed  low 
again. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Batiscombe  ?  "  she  said, 
quite  naturally,  holding  out  her  hand  to  him.  But 
in  the  open  air,  his  hand  touching  hers,  she  could 
not  help  blushing  a  little  when  she  thought  of  that 
dream  an  hour  ago. 

"  You  did  not  go  to  Rome,  after  all  ?  "  he  said, 
as  they  began  to  walk  along  the  lane. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  it  was  too  hot.  Do  you 
often  go  to  the  little  church,  Mr.  Batiscombe  ?  It 
is  so  nice  and  quiet  there,  is  it  not  ?  "  She  was 
determined  to  put  a  bold  face  on  the  matter.  Be- 


TO  LEEWARD.  141 

sides,  he  perhaps  had  not  heard  those  sobs,  —  he 
had  only  seen  her  kneeling,  perhaps,  and  had  not 
understood  that  she  was  crying.  But  Julius  had 
seen  all  and  heard  all,  and  was  pondering  deep  in 
his  heart  the  causes  which  could  make  her  unhappy, 
seeing  she  was  young  and,  in  his  opinion,  beautiful, 

—  married,  as   society  said,  to  the  man  she  loved, 
and  not  lacking  the  goods  of  this  world,  while  pray 
ing  ardently  for  those  of  the  next. 

" 1  have  sometimes  looked  in,"  answered  Batis- 
combe.  "  It  was  a  chance  that  took  me  there  to 
day." 

"Yes?" 

"  Yes  "  —  he  glanced  down  sidelong  at  her  face 

—  "  that  is  to  say  —  not  altogether." 

She  was  silent,  walking  serenely  by  his  side. 

"  No,  not  altogether,"  he  continued,  determining 
suddenly  on  his  course.  "  The  fact  is,  I  was  walk 
ing  by  your  place,  and  a  servant  who  was  just  com 
ing  out  told  me  you  were  in  the  church,  and  then  I 
went  in.  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  have  done  it," 
he  added  with  a  little  laugh ;  "  I  am  very  sorry  I 
disturbed  you.  Pray  forgive  me." 

"  Not  at  all,  —  churches  are  free  for  every  one. 
But  why  do  you  laugh  ?  " 

64  At  my  own  stupidity,"  he  answered.  "  I  might 
have  known  that  when  you  go  to  church  at  odd 
times  you  go  to  be  alone,  and  not  to  have  wander 
ing  callers  sent  there  after  you." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?"  she  asked,  curi 
ous  to  know  how  much  he  had  noticed.  She  argued 


142  TO   LEEWARD. 

that  if  he  had  heard  her  crying  he  would  think  the 
question  natural,  whereas,  if  he  had  jaot,  he  would 
not  suspect  anything  from  it. 

"  Because  you  acted  as  though  you  thought  you 
were  alone,"  he  said  seriously. 

"I  did  think  so,"  she  said,  blushing  faintly. 
"  Do  you  know  ?  I  was  quite  startled  when  I  saw 
you  there." 

"  I  saw  you  were,"  he  answered,  still  very  gravely, 
"  and  I  am  very  sorry." 

"  Do  you  remember  what  I  said  to  you  at  Cas- 
tellamare,  Mr.  Batiscombe  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  you  said  that  life  was  not  all  roses,  and 
you  said  it  in  earnest." 

"  Yes,"  said  Leonora.  "  You  see  I  did.  I  am 
not  always  in  earnest." 

"Is  it  rude  to  ask  how  one  distinguishes  between 
your  excellency  in  earnest  and  your  excellency  in 
fun  ? "  inquired  Batiscombe,  glad  enough  to  turn 
the  conversation  to  a  jest,  for  he  judged  Leonora  to 
be  rather  imprudent.  Indeed,  he  wondered  how 
she  could  have  said  what  she  had,  unless  it  were 
from  a  wish  to  face  out  the  situation. 

"You  ought  to  be  able  to  see,"  she  answered, 
laughing  lightly,  "  but  when  you  cannot,  perhaps  I 
will  tell  you." 

"  Pray  do,"  said  he.  "I  am  very  stupid  about 
such  things,  —  but  then,  I  am  always  in  earnest, 
even  when  I  want  to  be  funny.  Perhaps  you  might 
think  me  most  diverting  when  I  am  most  in  ear 
nest." 


TO  LEEWARD.  143 

"  No,"  said  Leonora,  "  I  should  not  think  that. 
I  should  think  you  might  be  very  unpleasant  when 
you  are  in  earnest  —  at  least,  from  the  things  you 
write." 

"  That  is  a  doubtful  compliment,"  remarked  Ju 
lius,  smiling. 

"Is  it?  I  cannot  imagine  anything  more  de 
lightful  than  having  the  power  to  be  as  unpleasant 
as  you  want  to  be." 

"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  marchesa  ? 
I  should  be  most  happy,  I  am  sure,  —  short  of 
poisoning  your  enemies,  as  you  suggested  the  other 
day." 

"You  ought  not  to  draw  the  line,"  she  said  with 
a  laugh. 

"  Oh,  very  well.  I  will  do  the  poisoning  too,  if 
you  wish  it." 

"  Of  course.  What  is  the  use  of  having  friends 
if  you  cannot  rely  on  them  to  do  anything  you 
want?" 

"  If  I  could  be  one  of  your  friends,  marchesa," 
he  said  gravely,  "  I  am  sure  I  would  not  '  draw 
any  line,'  as  you  call  it." 

"  With  what  seriousness  you  say  that !  "  she 
exclaimed,  very  much  amused.  She  was  nervous 
from  the  knowledge  that  he  had  found  her  out 
in  the  church,  and  she  laughed  at  anything  rather 
recklessly.  But  Batiscombe  had  turned  grave 
again. 

"  Would  you  rather  that  one  should  ask  such  a 
privilege  in  jest  ?"  he  asked. 


144  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  No  indeed,"  said  she,  a  little  frightened  at  the 
point  to  which  she  had  brought  him.  • 

"  Then  I  ask  it  very  much  in  earnest,"  he  an 
swered. 

"  To  be  my  friend  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  straight 
before  her. 

"  Yes,  to  be  your  friend,"  said  he,  watching  her 
closely. 

"  Really  ?     In  earnest  ?  " 

"  Really  —  in  earnest,"  he  answered.  She  stopped 
suddenly  in  the  road. 

"  I  accept,"  she  said,  frankly  holding  out  her 
hand. 

"  I  am  very  proud,"  he  said  quietly.  He  took 
off  his  hat  and  touched  his  lips  to  her  fingers.  Then 
they  walked  on  without  a  word  for  some  minutes. 

"  What  a  strange  thing  life  is  1  "  exclaimed  Leo 
nora,  at  last. 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  strange,"  he  answered.  "  Here 
are  we  two,  on  the  smallest  provocation,  swearing 
eternal  friendship  on  the  high  road,  as  though  we 
were  going  to  storm  a  citadel,  or  head  an  Arctic 
expedition.  But  I  am  really  very  glad,  and  very 
grateful."  Somehow  the  reflection  did  not  sound 
light  or  flippant;  and  to  tell  the  truth,  Leonora 
was  thinking  precisely  the  same  thing,  wondering 
inwardly  how  she  could  possibly  have  gone  to  such 
a  length  with  a  mere  acquaintance.  But  the  land 
of  friendship  was  an  untried  territory  for  Leonora, 
and  she  seemed  to  find  in  the  idea  a  sudden  rest 
from  a  sense  of  danger.  A  friend  could  never  be 


TO  LEEWARD.  145 

a  lover,  —  she  knew  that !     This  was  the  meaning 
of  the  dream.     But  she  answered  quietly  enough. 

"  If  things  are  real  at  all,"  she  said,  "  they  are 
as  real  at  one  time  as  at  another." 

"  Yes,"   answered   Batiscombe.      "  Malakoff   or 
Sorrento,  it  is  all  the  same." 
10 


CHAPTER   X. 

"  You  will  come  in  ?  "  said  Leonora  when  they 
reached  the  gate. 

"  Thanks  ;  I  would  like  to  very  much,"  answered 
Batiscombe,  and  he  followed  her  through  the  gate 
into  the  garden.  They  passed  into  the  house,  and 
Leonora  received  from  the  servant  a  telegram  which 
had  come  when  she  was  out.  It  was  the  one  Marc- 
antonio  had  dispatched  when  he  had  decided  to 
stay  a  few  days  in  Rome  and  to  bring  his  sister 
to  Sorrento. 

Leonora  opened  it  quickly  and  glanced  over  the 
message.  It  was  very  evident  from  her  expression 
that  she  was  annoyed  and  somewhat  surprised. 
Batiscombe  looked  away. 

"  It  is  too  bad  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  her  companion 
examined  the  handle  of  his  stick,  as  though  there 
were  something  wrong  with  it.  He  was  not  curi 
ous,  and  he  had  very  good  manners.  Leonora 
folded  the  despatch  and  put  it  away. 

"  Let  us  go  out  again,"  she  said,  "  it  is  so  close 
indoors."  Batiscombe  followed  her  in  silence,  obe 
diently.  They  sat  down  among  the  orange-trees 
on  an  old  stone  bench.  The  air  was  still  and  very 
warm,  and  the  lizards  were  taking  their  last  peep 
at  the  sun  wherever  they  could,  climbing  up  the 


TO  LEEWARD.  147 

trunks  of  the  trees  and  the  wall  of  the  house  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  him  before  he  set. 

"  My  husband  telegraphs  that  he  will  be  away 
some  time,"  said  Leonora  after  a  minute.  "He  has 
business  that  keeps  him,  and  his  sister  is  in  Rome." 

"  You  must  be  very  lonely  here,"  remarked 
Batiscombe  in  answer. 

"  Do  you  know  Madame  de  Charleroi  ?  "  asked 
Leonora,  taking  no  notice  of  the  observation. 

"  Yes,"  said  Batiscombe,  "  I  know  her.  Some 
body  told  me  she  was  in  Pegli." 

"  So  she  was.  But  she  had  to  come  to  Rome 
on  business,  and  now  my  husband  is  going  to  bring 
her  here." 

"Indeed?"  exclaimed  Batiscombe.  "To  pass 
the  summer  ?  " 

"  Oh  no ;  only  for  a  week,  I  suppose.  Do  you 
know  ?  I  am  rather  glad  ;  I  hardly  know  her  at 
all,  and  she  seems  so  hard  to  know." 

"  Hard  to  know  ?  "  repeated  Julius.  "  Perhaps 
she  is.  It  is  always  hard  to  know  very  charming 
women." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  asked  Leonora,  smiling  at  the  frank 
ness  of  the  remark ;  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  had 
found  it  easy  enough  to  swear  friendship  with  her 
half  an  hour  ago.  "Is  it  ?  is  she  such  a  very 
charming  woman  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  he  answered. 

"  Yes  to  which  question  ?  " 

"  Both,"  said  Julius.  "  Madame  de  Charleroi  is 
charming,  and  it  is  very  hard  to  know  women  of 


148  TO  LEEWARD. 

her  sort  well.  Think  how  long  it  is  since  I  first 
met  you,  marchesa,  and  we  are  just  beginning  to 
know  each  other." 

"  Do  you  think  we  are  ?  "  asked  Leonora.  She 
was  full  of  questions. 

"  I  think  so  —  yes.  At  least,  I  hope  so,"  he 
said  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"  If  you  were  writing  a  book  about  us,  Mr.  Batis- 
combe,  would  you  say  that  we  were  beginning  to 
know  each  other  ?  no  one  would  believe  that  we 
stopped  in  the  road  and  shook  hands  and  swore  to 
be  friends.  It  would  be  very  amusing,  would  it 
not  ?  I  don't  know  why  we  did  it ;  I  wish  you 
would  explain."  She  laughed  a  little,  and  stuck 
the  point  of  her  parasol  into  the  earth.  Batiscombe 
laughed  too. 

"  When  people  have  known  each  other  in  soci 
ety  for  a  long  time,"  he  said,  "  and  then  begin  to 
be  friends,  there  is  always  some  ice  to  break,  and 
it  always  seems  odd  for  a  little  while  after  it  is 
broken." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  the  reason  that  such  things 
always  seem  improbable  in  books,  until  you  know 
about  them  yourself." 

"  Amusing  books,  and  interesting  ones,  are  made 
up  of  improbabilities,"  answered  Julius.  "And 
the  people  who  write  them  are  even  more  improb 
able.  It  is  always  improbable  that  a  man  who  has 
lived  a  great  deal  should  have  the  talent,  or  the 
patience  if  you  like,  to  make  stories  out  of  his  own 
experience,  —  or  that  a  man  who  has  not  seen  a 


TO  LEEWARD.  149 

great  deal  of  the  world  should  be  able  to  evolve  a 
good  novel  out  of  his  inner  consciousness.  The 
probabilities  for  most  men  are  that  they  will  eat 
and  drink  and  wear  out  their  clothes  and  be  buried. 
All  those  things  are  a  great  bore  to  do,  a  greater 
bore  to  describe,  and  an  intolerable  bore  to  read 
about.  The  most  amusing  books  are  either  true 
stories  of  a  very  exceptional  kind,  or  else  they  are 
rank,  glaring,  stupendous  improbabilities,  invented 
to  illustrate  a  great  theory,  or  a  great  play  of  pas 
sions,  —  like  Bulwer's  '  Coming  Race',  or  Goethe's 
'  Faust.'  I  am  sure  I  am  boring  you  dreadfully." 

"  Oh  no !  "  cried  Leonora,  who  was  interested 
and  taken  out  of  herself  by  his  talk.  "  But  I  think 
I  prefer  the  '  exceptional  true  stories,'  as  you  call 
them,  like  Shakespeare,  —  the  historical  part,  I 
mean." 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,"  said  Batiscombe,  "  that  the 
true  stories  are  generally  the  ones  that  no  one  be 
lieves.  Critics  always  say  that  such  things  are  a 
tissue  of  utter  impossibilities." 

"  Oh,  the  critics,"  exclaimed  Leonora ;  "  they 
must  be  the  most  horrid  people.  I  wonder  you  au 
thors  let  them  live !  " 

"Thanks,"  said  Batiscombe,  laughing,  "I  was 
a  critic  myself  before  I  was  an  author,  and  I  do 
not  think  I  was  a  very  horrid  person." 

"  That  is  different,"  said  Leonora.  "  Of  course 
a  man  may  do  ever  so  many  things  before  he  finds 
his  real  vocation." 

"  Authors  owe  a  great  deal  to  critics,"  continued 


150  TO  LEEWARD. 

Julius.  "  More  men  have  come  to  grief  at  their 
hands  by  over-praise  than  by  too  much  discourage 
ment.  A  very  little  praise  is  often  enough  to  ruin 
a  man,  and  a  man  who  has  much  talent  will  always 
survive  a  great  deal  of  abuse  and  disappointment. 
If  any  one  asked  my  advice  about  adopting  litera 
ture  as  a  career,  I  would  certainly  tell  him  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it ;  I  should  be  quite  sure  that 
if  he  were  born  to  it  nothing  would  keep  him  from 
it  for  long." 

"  That  is  the  way  with  other  things,"  said  Leo 
nora,  looking  rather  wistfully  away  at  the  setting 
sun,  just  below  the  green  leaves  of  the  orange 
grove.  "  It  is  the  way  with  everything,  good  and 
bad.  Some  people  are  born  to  be  saints,  and  some 
people  are  quite  sure  to  turn  out  the  most  dreadful 
sinners,  whatever  they  do." 

"  What  a  depressing  theory !  "  exclaimed  Batis- 
combe,  who  had  much  more  cause  to  think  so  than 
Leonora. 

"  Depressing  is  no  name  for  it,"  she  answered. 
"  One  makes  such  mistakes  in  life,  and  then  there 
is  no  way  out  of  it  but  to  make  others." 

"  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  one  knows  one  is 
making  them,  and  cannot  help  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  one  always  knows,  —  if  one 
only  knew."  Then  she  laughed  suddenly.  "  What 
a  ridiculous  speech  ! " 

"  No,"  said  Batiscombe,  "  I  understand  exactly 
what  you  mean.  Just  when  one  is  doing  the  wrong 
thing,  there  is  always  a  little  instinct  against  it. 


TO  LEEWARD.  151 

But  it  is  often  so  very  little,  that  one  does  not  quite 
know  it  from  ever  so  many  other  instincts.  And 
then,  before  one  is  quite  sure  that  one  knows  what 
is  right,  —  before  one's  mind  has  time  to  think  it 
over  logically,  —  one  has  done  the  wrong  thing.  At 
least,  it  seems  afterwards  as  if  that  were  what  hap 
pened  ;  but  I  suppose  it  is  because  we  are  weak." 

Leonora  looked  at  Julius,  who  seemed  deep  in 
his  thoughts.  He  had  exactly  put  her  idea  into 
words,  but  she  could  not  tell  whether  he  believed 
what  he  said,  or  was  merely  amusing  himself  with 
his  faculty  for  explanation.  He  interested  her  ex 
tremely.  It  was  just  this  kind  of  introspection 
that  most  delighted  her,  —  this  cutting  up  and  skin 
ning  of  conscience  and  soul.  Nevertheless  she  did 
not  think  that  Batiscombe  was  the  man  to  analyze  his 
own  actions.  It  was  more  likely,  she  thought,  that 
he  was  very  clever,  and  could  talk  to  please  his 
listener.  But  he  interested  her  greatly,  and  she 
was  curious  to  know  how  he  had  got  his  knowledge 
of  human  nature. 

"  You  must  have  had  a  wonderful  life,"  she  said, 
presently,  saying  aloud  what  she  was  thinking, 
rather  than  hoping  to  draw  him  on  to  talk  about 
himself. 

"  Oh  no  — very  commonplace,  I  assure  you," 
said  he,  with  a  laugh  that  sounded  natural  enough. 
"  Only,  you  see,  I  have  had  to  make  capital  of 
what  I  know.  But  it  spoils  one's  own  enjoyment 
to  analyze  anything,  and  I  shall  have  to  give  it  up, 
or  resign  myself  to  a  miserable  existence." 


152  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  I  wonder  whether  you  are  right,"  said  Leonora, 
reflectively. 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  he  answered  gayly.  "  The 
man  who  carves  the  pheasant  does  not  enjoy  it, 
but  the  man  who  eats  it  does." 

"Then  let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we 
die.  Is  that  the  end  of  your  experience  ?  "  asked 
Leonora,  gloomily. 

"  Oh  —  well  —  if  you  put  it  so.  Only  if  you 
do  not  eat  and  drink  too  much,  you  may  possibly 
not  die  until  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  Or  you  may  spend  your  life  in  cooking  the  din 
ner,  and  die  before  it  is  served  ?  "  suggested  Leo 
nora. 

"  Or  anything  —  what  carnal  similes  !  "  laughed 
Batiscombe.  "  But  they  are  very  apt  for  any  one 
who  cares  for  eating.  If  that  is  really  an  impor 
tant  enjoyment,  it  may  as  well  stand  as  the  type." 

"  Exactly  —  'if  I  am  sure  you  do  not  think  it 
is,  nor  that  any  material  satisfaction  can  possibly 
stand  as  a  type,  nor  that  we  should  enjoy  to-day 
without  thought  of  to-morrow,  nor  a  great  many 
other  things  that  you  have  said."  She  watched 
him  as  she  spoke,  and  he  liked  to  feel  her  eyes  on 
him. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  you  are  quite  right.  I  do 
not  think  those  things  at  all.  But  I  am  sure  I  gen 
erally  do  them,"  he  added,  smiling. 

"  But  what  do  you  think  —  really  ?  Is  there 
anything  really  high  and  noble  in  the  world  ?  It 
all  seems  so  little  and  so  hollow,  sometimes."  She 


TO  LEEWARD.  153 

sighed,  thinking  how,  formerly,  she  had  said  such 
things  speculatively,  and  for  the  sake  of  raising  an 
argument  with  Mademoiselle  Le  Creux,  and  Made 
moiselle  Le  Vide.  Batiscombe  turned  on  the  stone 
seat,  so  that  he  faced  her. 

"  Of  course  there  are  high  and  noble  things  in 
the  world,"  he  answered.  "It  is  when  you  look 
into  the  small  workings  of  the  mind  and  soul,  as 
you  have  been  making  me  do,  that  you  lose  sight 
of  the  great  ones.  Material  nature  is  most  inter 
esting  under  a  microscope,  and  generally  most  beau 
tiful  in  great  masses  at  a  distance.  But  if  you 
walk  close  to  the  grandest  cliff  in  nature,  and  flat 
ten  your  face  against  it,  and  hold  your  eye  half  an 
inch  from  the  rock,  the  grandeur  and  the  beauty 
are  all  gone,  and  without  a  microscope  wherewith 
to  examine  your  particular  point,  you  will  find  the 
close  inspection  tiresome  after  a  time.  There  is 
no  microscope  for  the  soul,  any  more  than  for  the 
heart,  or  the  mind.  You  gain  nothing  by  looking 
too  closely  at  it.  It  is  ten  to  one  that  you  hit  upon 
a  diseased  spot  for  your  examination.  It  may 
amuse  you  for  a  time  to  study  other  people's  souls, 
because  you  can  hardty  get  so  near  to  them  as  to 
lose  all  impression  of  the  whole,  as  you  can  with 
yourself.  What  does  it  matter  what  you  know 
about  your  soul,  so  long  as  you  do  what  is  right  ?  " 

"  That  sounds  true,"  said  Leonora,  "  but  I  sup 
pose  there  is  something  wrong  about  it." 

"  All  good  similes  sound  true,"  said  Batiscombe, 
laughing.  "  That  is  the  reason  why  popular  orators 


154  TO  LEEWARD. 

and  preachers  are  so  fond  of  them.  The  real  use 
of  a  simile  is  for  an  explanation  ;  the  moment  you 
make  an  argument  upon  it,  you  are  revelling  in 
words  without  logic,  calling  illustrations  facts  and 
generally  making  game  of  your  audience." 

"  What  a  discouraging  person  you  are,"  said 
Leonora.  "  You  make  one  almost  believe  a  thing, 
and  then  you  turn  round  and  tell  one  there  is  noth 
ing  to  believe  after  all." 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Batiscombe,  leaning 
back  and  clasping  his  brown  hands  over  his  knee. 
"  I  have  not  said  there  was  nothing  to  believe  in. 
Only  take  care  you  do  not  believe  in  anything  be 
cause  it  bears  a  tempting  resemblance  to  something 
you  like." 

u  That  is  ingenious,  but  I  wish  you  would  be 
positive  about  something,  I  wish  you  would  tell 
me,  for  instance,  what  you  yourself  believe  in." 
Her  eyes  turned  towards  him  in  the  twilight.  For 
the  sun  had  gone  down,  and  the  orange  -  trees 
brought  the  shadows  early  where  the  two  were  sit 
ting. 

"  What  I  believe  in  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  I  sup 
pose  that,  apart  from  religious  matters,  I  believe 
most  in  sympathy  and  antipathy." 

"  That  is  not  exactly  a  course  of  action  or  a  rule 
of  life,"  remarked  Leonora,  smiling  and  looking 
away. 

"No.  But  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  they  are 
what  determine  both.  At  all  events  I  believe  in 
them.  They  always  carry  the  day  over  logic,  phi- 


TO  LEEWARD.  155 

losophy,  and  all  manner  of  calculation  and  fore 
thought.  You  may  determine  that  it  is  your  duty 
to  like  a  person,  you  may  induce  yourself  to  think 
that  you  do,  and  you  may  make  every  one  believe 
you  do  ;  but  if  you  really  do  not  —  there  is  an  end 
of  it.  And  the  reverse  is  just  as  true." 

"  I  should  think  every  one  knew  that,"  said  Leo 
nora  in  an  indifferent  way.  But  she  was  wonder 
ing  why  he  had  said  it,  whether  he  had  any  suspi 
cion  of  her  own  state  of  mind.  "  It  is  very  safe  to 
say  you  believe  in  things  of  that  sort  —  everybody 
does.  You  are  a  very  indefinite  person,  Mr.  Batis- 
combe." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  defining  everything  ?  Lots 
of  people  have  bee"n  burned  alive,  and  have  had 
their  heads  cut  off  for  defining  things  they  knew 
nothing  about.  Of  course  they  were  quite  sure 
they  knew  better ;  but  then,  is  it  worth  while  to 
die  for  your  personal  opinion  of  an  abstract  ques 
tion  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  fine  and  noble,  though,"  said  Leo 
nora. 

"  There  is  a  tradition  that  it  is  fine  and  noble  to 
'  die  for  '  anything.  It  sounds  well.  Every  one 
admires  it.  But  reflect  that  the  common  murderer 
4  dies  for '  his  individual  views  of  the  social  state. 
The  woman  who  maintained  that  scissors  were  bet 
ter  than  a  knife  for  cutting  an  apple  suffered  her 
husband  to  drown  her  rather  than  give  up  the  point, 
and  as  she  sank  her  fingers  still  opened  and  closed, 
to  imitate  the  instrument  she  preferred.  She  '  died 


156     .  TO  LEEWARD. 

for  '  her  opinion,  just  as  much  as  Savonarola  or 
Giordano  Bruno,  whom  my  countrymen  are  so  fond 
of  raving  about." 

"  You  know  that  is  not  what  I  mean,"  said 
Leonora.  "  I  mean  it  is  noble  to  die  for  what  is 
right." 

"  The  question  is,  what  is  right  ?  There  are 
cases  when  it  is  eminently  heroic  to  sacrifice  one's 
life." 

"  For  instance  ?  " 

"For  instance,  to  die  for  the  liberty  of  one's 
own  country,  —  for  the  defence  and  safety  of  one's 
king,  who  represents  the  embodiment  of  the  social 
principle,  —  or  for  the  honor  of  an  innocent  wo 
man." 

"  But  about  liberty  and  one's  king,  and  that  sort 
of  thing,"  said  Leonora,  "  where  can  you  draw  the 
line?  There  is  no  successful  treason,  you  know, 
because  when  it  succeeds  it  is  called  by  other 
names.  There  must  be  a  standard  of  absolute 
good  —  or  something." 

"  I  should  think  you  must  be  a  very  unhappy 
person,  marchesa,  if  you  are  always  trying  to  draw 
a  line  and  to  define  absolute  good.  What  is  the 
use  ?  Every  one  knows  that  it  cannot  be  done." 

Leonora  was  silent.  It  had  interested  her  to 
hear  the  brilliant,  successful  man,  apparently  so 
happy  and  contented  with  his  lot,  talk  seriously 
about  the  things  she  was  always  puzzling  over. 
But  what  did  it  come  to?  What  was  the  use? 
Those  were  his  last  words. 


TO  LEEWARD.  157 

The  warm  gloom  of  the  night  settled  softly  round 
them,  laden  with  the  sweetness  of  the  oranges  and 
the  aromatic  scent  of  the  carnations.  Batiscombe 
could  just  see  Leonora  by  his  side,  her  head  bent 
forward  as  she  rested  her  chin  upon  her  hand. 
The  indescribable  atmosphere  and  faint  perfume 
that  surrounds  women  of  high  beauty  and  degree 
intoxicated  him.  She  was  so  English  in  her  beauty 
and  so  Russian  in  her  delicate  exuberance  of  vital 
ity  ;  above  all,  she  was  so  intensely  feminine,  that 
Batiscombe  felt  his  senses  giving  way  to  the  mag 
netic  influence.  He  leaned  forward  in  the  dark 
till  he  was  nearer  to  her,  looking  at  the  faint  out 
line  of  her  face.  Leonora  sighed,  and  the  gentle 
sound  seemed  like  the  softened  echo  of  past  weep 
ing. 

"Marchesa,"  said  Julius  in  a  low  voice,  "can 
I  really  be  your  friend?  Will  you  let  me  Jielp 
to  make  your  life  happier,  if  I  can  ?  " 

Leonora  felt  the  blood  rise  blushing  to  her  face 
in  the  dark,  and  her  heart  trembled  in  its  beat 
ing.  A  friend!  Oh,  if  she  really  could  find  a 
strong,  true  friend  to  help  her ! 

44  How  can  you?  "  she  asked  faintly. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  answered.  "  Let  me  try. 
I  will  try  very  hard.  I  am  sure  I  can  succeed." 

She  let  him  take  her  hand  for  one  moment.  It 
was  a  consent,  not  spoken,  but  given  and  under 
stood.  Leonora  rose  to  her  feet,  and  they  walked 
silently  toward  the  house. 

"  When  may  I  come  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  bade  her 


158  TO  LEEWARD. 

good  night.  lie  spoke  quite  naturally,  as  though 
it  were  already  a  matter  of  course  that  he  should 
see  her  every  day.  She  hesitated  a  moment,  stand 
ing  in  the  doorway  with  the  warm  light  of  the 
lamp  upon  her. 

"  Come  at  eleven,"  she  said  at  last,  and  with  a 
pleasant  smile  she  left  him  and  went  in. 

The  aspect  of  life  seemed  changed  for  her  when 
he  was  gone.  That  afternoon  she  had  suffered  in 
tensely.  Now  there  was  a  strange,  calm  sense  in 
her  heart  that  soothed  all  her  thoughts,  and  made 
the  lonely  evening  sweet  and  restful.  She  asked 
no  questions,  she  made  no  self-examination,  she 
desired  of  herself  no  reasons  for  her  conduct.  It 
was  enough  that  the  storm  had  passed  and  that  the 
calm  was  come,  she  knew  not  how.  A  man  had 
spoken  to  her  as  no  man  ever  spoke  to  her  before, 
and  the  earnestness  of  his  words  still  rang  in  her 
ear.  He  was  loyal,  strong,  and  true.  He  would  be 
her  friend,  —  he  had  asked  it,  she  had  granted  it. 

She  dined  alone  and  read  a  little  afterwards, 
closing  her  eyes  now  and  again  to  enjoy  the  peace 
that  had  descended  upon  her.  For  the  first  time 
in  many  months  she  was  happy,  supremely,  quietly 
happy,  and  she  asked  no  questions. 

As  for  Batiscombe,  he  wandered  homewards 
through  the  dark  lanes,  not  heeding  or  caring 
where  he  went.  He  was  wholly  absorbed  in  recall 
ing  the  events  of  the  afternoon,  revelling  in  the 
memory  of  Leonora's  face  and  look  and  words.  He, 
too,  was  wholly  disinclined  to  reflect  on  the  possi- 


TO  LEEWARD.  159 

ble  consequences  of  his  action  ;  he  took  it  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course  that  he  would  keep  his  word  and  be 
indeed  a  friend  to  her ;  at  all  events  he  thought 
neither  of  the  future  nor  the  past,  but  only  ever 
and  ever  of  herself,  clinging  tenderly  to  the  images 
that  he  called  up,  and  asking  nothing  better  than 
to  call  them  up  again,  dreaming  and  waking.  He 
might  be  in  love,  or  he  might  not,  —  the  question 
no  longer  entered  his  head.  He  was  fascinated, 
charmed,  and  beside  himself  with  enjoyment  of  his 
thoughts. 

It  was  the  state  he  had  dreaded  a  day  or  two 
ago.  To  avoid  it  he  had  tried  to  escape,  by  a 
stratagem,  beyond  the  possibility  of  seeing  Leonora 
again.  He  had  cursed  his  folly  in  going  to  see  her. 
He  had  promised  himself  that  he  would  not  go 
again ;  he  had  reviewed  his  past  troubles,  and  had 
remembered  how  plausibly  they  had  begun.  And 
at  last  he  had  fallen  into  the  ancient  trap,  the  snare 
of  fair  friendship  set  out  to  catch  men  and  women 
and  to  destroy  them.  But  the  mouth  of  the  pit 
was  garnished  with  roses  and  lilies,  sweet  and  inno 
cent  enough; 

At  eleven  o'clock  of  the  next  day  Julius  was 
again  with  Leonora,  and  on  the  day  following  and 
the  day  after  that.  They  walked  together,  read 
together,  sailed  together,  and  lunched  together.  A 
few  stray  callers  came  in  now  and  then,  but  as 
they  never  came  twice,  not  one  of  them  thought  it 
at  all  worthy  of  remark  that  Mr.  Batiscombe  should 
happen  to  be  calling  at  the  same  time. 


160  TO   LEEWARD. 

Leonora  found  an  extraordinary  pleasure  in  his 
conversation.     He  had  a  fund  of  varied  study  and 
experience  from  which  to  draw,  that  amused  her 
and  made  her  think  in  new  grooves ;  and  when  he 
talked  about  her  ideas  and  interests  he  always  suc 
ceeded  in  showing  them  to  her  in  a  new  light.    His 
comments  were  by  turns  light  and  sarcastic,  and 
then  again  very  serious  ;  and  his  general  readiness 
to  make  things  seem  amusing  made  his  graver  say 
ings  doubly  strong  by  contrast.     He  had  a  bold 
way  of  asserting  that  accumulated  knowledge  was 
of  very  little  importance  as  compared  with  action, 
that  would  have  sounded  foolish  enough  from  an 
ignorant  man ;  but  Julius  was  far  from  ignorant. 
He  had  studied  a  great  many  questions,  and  he 
possessed  the  faculty  of  speaking  sensibly  in  a  gen 
eral  way  about  subjects  of  which  he  did  not  profess 
to  know  anything.     Most  of  all  she  found  in  him  a 
ready  sympathy  and  a  love  of  human  nature  and  of 
life  for  life's  sake,  that  were  utterly  different  from 
the  artificial  views  she  had  cultivated.     She  found 
in  him  the  strong  love  of  enjoyment  and  the  ac 
tivity  of  mind  and  body,  that  best  harmonized  with 
her  own  real  character  ;  and  in  their  long  days  to 
gether  the  hollowness  and  emptiness  of  life  never 
once  recalled  themselves  to  her  memory,  except  as 
things  for  her  to  wonder  at  and  for  Batiscombe  to 
turn  into  jest  and  laugh  to  scorn. 

The  whole  situation  was  utterly  new  and  unex 
pected  to  her.  After  the  first  few  days  at  Sorrento 
with  her  husband  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that 


TO  LEEWARD.  161 

the  beauties  of  nature  were  very  tedious,  and  that 
she  would  be  glad  to  go  back  to  Rome  and  begin 
the  duties  of  society,  —  anything,  rather  than  go  on 
from  day  to  day  longing  for  a  sensation,  and  find 
ing  only  a  great  deal  of  weariness.  But  now,  in 
the  discovery  of  a  new  friend,  a  man  of  talent  and 
tact,  who  made  all  gloomy  musings  seem  ridiculous 
by  the  side  of  his  sanguine  activity,  the  place  was 
transformed  into  a  paradise  for  her.  Not  a  day 
but  brought  some  new  thought,  some  witty  saying, 
some  bit  of  novelty  with  it,  so  that  she  found  her 
self  happy  when  she  was  alone  in  going  over  what 
they  had  said  and  done  together. 

As  for  Marcantonio,  she  would  be  very  glad 
when  he  came  back.  It  seemed  to  her  that  he 
would  be  much  more  amusing  now,  and  that  she 
could  say  things  to  rouse  him  and  make  him  talk. 
She  wrote  affectionate  notes  every  day,  telling  him 
how  beautiful  everything  was,  and  how  he  would 
enjoy  it,  now  that  the  first  difficulties  of  settling 
were  over.  She  even  said  she  had  sent  for  the 
cook,  and  had  ascertained  that  he  was  very  well, 
having  had  no  return  of  the  fever ;  she  thought  it 
would  please  her  husband  to  know  that  she  was 
taking  care  of  the  household  and  looking  after  the 
people. 

In  the  mean  while  Batiscombe  fell  in  love,  stu 
diously  consoling  his  conscience  with  the  reflection 
that  he  was  doing  a  good  deed,  and  was  acting  the 
part  of  a  friend  in  making  the  time  pass  pleasantly 
for  Leonora  in  her  solitude.  But  his  conscience 
11 


162  TO  LEEWARD. 

did  not  trouble  him  greatly,  though  it  would  be 
sure  to,  by  and  by.  At  present  everything  was 
swamped  in  a  sea  of  glorious  enjoyment,  and  he 
was  no  less  really  happy  than  Leonora.  Day  after 
day  began  and  ended  alike,  but  yet  ever  different. 
They  never  referred  to  the  singularity  of  the  ar 
rangement  by  which  Julius  came  every  day  in  the 
morning  and  stayed  till  dark.  There  seemed  no 
reason  why  they  should  not  leave  well  alone,  and 
enjoy  each  other's  society  to  the  very  utmost.  And 
they  did,  most  fully,  each  wholly  engrossed  in  the 
other. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  Marcantonio  telegraphed 
that  he  and  his  sister  would  leave  Rome  by  the 
night  train  and  arrive  in  the  morning.  Leonora 
in  the  innocence  of  her  heart  was  glad,  anticipating 
all  manner  of  new  pleasure  in  her  husband's  society, 
the  result  of  her  own  cure  from  morbid  ennui, 
But  Batiscombe  felt  his  heart  sink  within  him. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  sun  beat  down  fiercely  as  Marcantonio  and 
Madame  de  Charleroi  drove  up  to  the  house  at 
half -past  ten  o'clock.  They  had  travelled  all  night, 
but  the  beautiful  Diana  was  not  the  less  fair  for 
being  a  little  tired,  and  as  she  descended  from  the 
carriage  and  went  up  the  short  steps  to  the  door, 
Leonora  could  not  help  admiring  the  perfect 
smoothness  and  completeness  of  her  appearance. 
Donna  Diana  did  things  in  a  stately  fashion,  and  it 
would  have  been  a  hard  journey  indeed  that  could 
ruffle  her  lace  or  disturb  the  smooth  coiling  of  her 
hair.  Leonora  herself  was  apt  to  arrive  a  little 
dusty  from  a  night  in  a  train,  and  not  altogether 
serene,  and  she  knew  it ;  so  that  the  absolutely 
finished  completeness  of  Madame  de  Charleroi 
struck  her  as  enviable  and  much  to  be  admired. 

The  two  women  kissed  each  other  affectionately 
on  either  cheek,  and  then  Marcantonio  came  run 
ning  up  and  bent  over  his  wife's  hand,  and,  when 
Donna  Diana  was  not  looking,  he  just  touched  his 
lips  to  Leonora's  cheek  in  a  rather  guilty  fashion. 
Presently  Leonora  led  Diana  away  to  show  her  the 
rooms  destined  for  her,  and  to  fuss  a  little  over  all 
the  arrangements,  as  women  love  to  do  when 
another  woman  is  come  to  stay  with  them.  Marc- 


164  TO  LEEWARD. 

antonio  was  busy  for  a  few  minutes,  asking  ques 
tions  of  the  coachman  and  the  men-servants  con 
cerning  the  health  of  every  individual  in  the 
establishment,  and  then  he  also  retired  to  his  room, 
and  the  perspiring  grooms  and  servants  raged  fu 
riously  together  with  the  luggage  and  bundles  for 
a  while  ;  and  then  the  front  door  was  closed  again, 
and  all  was  cool  and  quiet. 

Leonora  left  her  husband  and  her  sister-in-law 
to  their  toilet,  and  came  down  stairs  through  the 
darkened  halls  to  the  drawing-room.  She  was  won 
dering  whether  Batiscombe  would  appear  at  his 
usual  hour.  Strange  to  say  they  had  not  spoken 
of  it  on  the  previous  evening,  —  probably  because 
they  feared  that  the  mention  of  the  subject  would 
lead  to  some  discussion  about  the  singular  intimacy 
into  which  they  had  fallen,  and  which  neither  wished 
to  endanger.  It  would  be  just  like  Batiscombe  to 
come,  she  thought ;  it  would  be  just  like  him  to 
show  himself  at  once  as  her  friend,  and  to  establish 
the  custom  of  coming  every  day. 

She  was  not  mistaken ;  at  eleven  o'clock  the  bell 
rang,  and  he  was  shown  in. 

"  I  was  quite  sure  you  would  come,"  she  said, 
holding  out  her  hand. 

"  Of  course,"  said  he.  "  I  hope  they  have  ar 
rived  safely  ?  " 

"  Quite,  thanks.  They  are  making  themselves 
beautiful  at  this  moment,  though  I  think  they  must 
have  done  it  on  the  way,  —  they  arrived  looking  as 
fresh  as  possible,  all  smiles  and  lavender  and  sun- 


TO  LEEWARD.  165 

shine.  I  am  so  glad  they  are  come,  you  cannot 
think !  " 

"Yes,  I  should  think  you  must  be,"  assented 
Julius  with  less  enthusiasm. 

At  that  moment  Marcantonio  was  shaving  him 
self  in  the  cool  seclusion  of  his  dressing-room.  He 
was  going  over  in  his  mind  the  past  and  the  future, 
reflecting  upon  the  absurd  things  he  had  said  to 
Diana  about  Batiscombe  in  the  train,  and  wonder 
ing  what  he  could  do  to  make  her  stay  pleasant. 
Batiscombe  must  certainly  be  asked  to  the  house, 
he  thought,  if  only  to  show  his  sister  that  he,  Marc 
antonio,  had  no  objection  to  her  meeting  the  man. 
It  had  been  so  thoroughly  absurd  to  take  up  her 
speech  about  the  possibility  of  her  having  married 
him,  and  to  build  on  it  the  supposition  that  she  had 
ever  loved  him.  Bah!  the  fancy  of  a  girl  for  the 
romantic  !  Batiscombe  was  now  a  man  perfectly 
pOS$  —  decidedly  so.  Besides,  Marcantonio  began 
to  dread  very  much  the  eternal  trio  of  his  wife,  his 
sister,  and  himself,  from  morning  till  night.  If 
only  he  had  thought  in  time  to  ask  some  other  man, 
it  would  have  been  such  a  charming  square  party. 
His  wife  was  always  more  brilliant  and  good-tem 
pered  when  there  were  outsiders  present,  —  prob 
ably  a  peculiarity  of  all  women,  he  thought,  ex 
cepting  Diana.  Supposing  that  Leonora  took  it 
into  her  head  to  be  dull  or  bored  while  Diana  was 
there,  how  dreadful  it  would  be  !  It  was  clearly 
necessary  that  Diana  should  have  a  favorable  idea 
of  the  Carantoni  menage  ;  that  had  been  the  whole 


166  TO  LEEWARD. 

object  in  bringing  her  down.  And  if  Leonora  did 
not  seem  in  good  spirits,  Diana  would  be  sure  to 
think  he  was  not  making  his  wife  happy.  The 
idea  grew  in  his  mind ;  he  was  terribly  afraid  of 
what  his  sister  might  think,  seeing  how  she  had 
opposed  the  match  from  the  first.  Eeally  it  was 
absolutely  necessary  to  ask  some  one  to  the  house 
while  she  stayed.  But  whom  could  he  ask  at  such 
short  notice  ?  There  was  nobody  but  Batiscombe 
within  reach. 

Marcantonio  had   finished    shaving  one  side  of 

o 

his  face,  and  took  a  fresh  razor  for  the  other. 
There  was  a  pause  in  his  thoughts  while  he  tested 
the  edge  and  applied  more  soap  to  his  cheek.  As 
he  went  to  work  again  the  original  train  of  ideas 
continued. 

JEJbbenef  Batiscombe.  Why  not?  He  was  a 
very  amiable  man,  and  Leonora  liked  him.  She 
would  certainly  not  object.  As  for  Diana,  it  would 
be  probable  that  he  would  keep  away  from  her 
most  of  the  time.  He  would  scarcely  press  his 
company  on  her.  Monsieur  Batiscombe  had  tact; 
although  he  was  a  crazy  foreigner  who  went  round 
the  world  in  boats  and  wrote  books.  Bah  !  it  was 
so  convenient !  Just  the  very  person  —  he  knew 
everything,  had  seen  most  things,  and  could  talk 
like  a  mill-wheel.  All  those  ridiculous  prejudices 
about  Diana  were  absurd,  and  were  an  insult  to 
her.  Batiscombe  should  be  asked  to  stay  a  week. 

Having  successfully  finished  his  shaving  opera 
tions,  Marcantonio  sat  down  to  write  a  note  to 


TO  LEEWARD.  167 

Julius  while  the  thing  was  in  his  mind.  Other 
wise,  he  reflected,  he  might  forget  to  do  it,  and 
Batiscombe  could  not  be  obtained  until  to-morrow. 
He  wrote  an  invitation  and  signed  it.  Then  he 
reflected  that  it  would  be  as  well  to  speak  to  Leo 
nora  before  sending  it.  She  did  not  know  any 
thing  about  that  old  story  that  happened  when  she 
was  a  little  girl,  and  perhaps  not  even  in  Rome. 
It  was  a  mere  formality,  but  it  would  be  more 
courteous  to  ask  her,  before  sending  the  invitation. 
He  would  not  ask  Diana,  however.  She  had  her 
self  said,  the  night  before,  that  she  had  no  objec 
tion  to  meeting  the  man.  Very  well,  she  should 
meet  him  very  soon.  He  hurriedly  finished  dress 
ing  and  went  down-stairs  to  find  Leonora.  Enter 
ing  the  drawing-room  he  found  her 'talking  quietly 
with  the  very  man  he  was  thinking  about. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  what  a  chance  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
cordially  shaking  Julius  by  the  hand.  "  Imagine 
to  yourself  that  I  was  in  train  of  writing  to  you  a 
note,  when  you  were  in  the  house  yourself  !  " 

"Keally?"  ejaculated  Batiscombe,  in  some  as 
tonishment.  "  How  can  I  serve  you  —  since  I  am 
here  in  the  flesh  ?  " 

"  Mais,  by  remaining !  "  answered  Marcantonio 
cheerfully.  "  I  was  in  the  act  of  writing  a  very 
pressing  invitation  to  you  to  stay  a  week  with  us, 
and  thus  to  make  up  the  most  agreeable  partie 
carree  in  the  world.  Madame  unites  herself  with 
me  in  the  request,  I  am  sure,"  added  Carantoni, 
turning  to  his  wife,  who  looked  rather  pale. 


168  TO  LEEWARD. 

"Mais  certainement  —  we  shall  be  charmed," 
said  Leonora,  utterly  astonished  and  confused  by 
the  suddenness  of  the  situation.  She  had  herself 
thought  how  delightful  such  an  arrangement  would 
be  —  more  than  once.  But  coining  so  suddenly, 
from  her  husband,  without  her  suggestion,  it  fright 
ened  her  and  did  not  seem  quite  natural.  Her 
voice  did  not  sound  very  cordial  as  she  spoke,  but 
it  was  sufficient,  and  her  husband,  being  full  of  his 
idea,  noticed  nothing. 

"  You  are  very  kind.  It. will  really  give  me  very 
great  pleasure,"  said  Julius,  controlling  his  voice 
wonderfully.  For  he,  too,  was  taken  off  his  guard. 
Marcantonio  was  delighted.  It  was  such  a  wonder 
ful  piece  of  luck,  he  said,  that  Monsieur  Batiscombe 
should  have  called  at  that  hour. 

"  But  come  with  me,  if  madame  permits,"  said 
he,  "  and  I  will  show  you  your  room.  You  can 
send  for  your  things  in  the  afternoon."  Leonora 
was  only  too  glad  to  be  left  alone  for  a  moment, 
and  the  two  men  went  away,  Marcantonio  rubbing 
his  hands  at  the  success  of  his  arrangements  for  a 
pleasant  week.  With  Batiscombe  in  the  house  the 
time  could  not  fail  to  pass  pleasantly,  he  thought. 

There  are  some  men  who  seem  to  be  pursued 
by  an  evil  destiny  that  continually  forces  them  to 
do  the  wrong  thing  out  of  pure  goodness  of  heart. 
From  an  innocent  desire  to  make  his  household 
pleasant  for  his  sister,  and  to  amuse  the  wife  of  his 
heart,  he  had  asked  the  man  of  all  others  whom  the 
one  desired  to  avoid,  and  the  other  ought  to  have 


TO  LEEWARD.  169 

been  kept  from,  simply  because  he  wanted  some 
body  and  the  man  happened  to  be  on  the  spot. 
And  the  whole  thing  had  originated  in  a  laudable 
desire  to  see  pleasant  relations  established  between 
his  wife  and  his  sister,  the  two  persons  in  the  whole 
world  whom  he  most  loved.  Poor  Marcantonio  ! 
he  was  under  an  unlucky  star. 

Presently  Batiscombe  returned  alone  to  the  draw 
ing-room,  his  host  remaining  to  give  some  orders 
about  the  lunch.  He  looked  curiously  at  Leonora 
as  he  sat  down  opposite  to  her. 

"  This  is  very  charming,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  It 
is  so  kind  of  you." 

"I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  Leonora, 
avoiding  his  glance.  "  But  of  course  I  am  very 
glad.  I  was  dreadfully  afraid  of  being  left  alone 
with  my  sister-in-law,  and  of  course  you  will  help 
me  to  make  it  pleasant  for  her.  Really,  it  is  just 
like  my  husband,  —  he  is  so  good." 

"  It  would  have  been  very  miserable  to  have  our 
good  time  cut  short,"  said  Julius  reflectively,  "  and 
I  suppose  they  would  have  thought  it  odd  if  I  went 
on  calling  every  day  at  the  same  hour."  Leonora 
blushed  very  slightly. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  suppose  so.  People  have 
such  ideas  about  the  appearances.  You  know  I 
should  not  mind  in  the  least  if  it  were  only  my 
husband  ;  you  might  stay  from  morning  till  night, 
and  we  should  all  enjoy  it.  But  I  am  so  afraid  of 
Madame  de  Charleroi,  —she  is  so  tremendously 
correct,  you  know." 


170  TO  LEEWARD. 

From  which  piece  of  conversation  it  will  be  seen 
that  Julius  and  Leonora  had  grown  intimate  of  late, 
and  regarded  things  from  a  practical  point  of  view. 

All  this  time  Madame  de  Charleroi  was  in  igno 
rance  of  the  amiable  arrangement  concluded  by  her 
brother,  and  was  looking  forward  with  almost  as 
much  dislike  as  he  had  done  to  the  family  trio  in 
which  she  was  to  play  a  part  during  the  week. 

She  understood  Leonora  to  a  certain  extent. 
She  had  at  least  a  very  strong  presentiment  that 
there  would  be  trouble  between  her  brother  and  his 
wife ;  not  an  open  disagreement  or  anything  dra 
matic,  but  the  kind  of  small  worry  and  discord  that 
begins  slowly  and  surely,  and  finally  embitters  the 
whole  lives  of  people  who  are  not  suited  to  each 
other.  She  had  agreed  to  corne  down  to  Sorrento 
in  order  to  "  make  friends  "  with  Leonora,  as  her 
brother  had  expressed  it,  and  in  her  wisdom  and 
knowledge  of  the  world  she  knew  very  well  what  a 
difficult  task  she  had  undertaken,  and  how  small 
was  her  chance  of  success.  She  foresaw  that  she 
must  be  continually  left  alone  with  Leonora,  for 
she  understood  her  brother  well  enough  to  suppose 
he  would  adopt  that  method  of  fostering  the  friend 
ship  he  desired.  Poor  dear  Marcantonio  had  so 
very  little  tact !  Consequently  Diana  wished  very 
much  that  some  other  person  had  been  asked  to 
stay  at  the  same  time.  Meanwhile  she  lay  down 
for  an  hour  upon  a  sofa  in  her  sitting-room,  and 
thought  the  matter  over. 

Marcantonio,  however,  bethought   him   that   in 


TO  LEEWARD.  171 

spite  of  Diana's  expressed  willingness  to  meet  Bat- 
iscombe,  it  might  surprise  her  to  find  herself  sud 
denly  living  under  the  same  roof  with.  him.  He 
therefore  determined  to  inform  her  of  the  fact  be 
fore  they  all  met  at  the  midday  breakfast.  He 
supposed  she  was  busy  with  her  toilet,  and  so  he 
would  not  go  himself ;  he  would  send  his  wife. 
That  was  a  good  idea  —  it  would  be  at  once  a 
chance  of  throwing  the  two  together.  To  this  end 
he  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Leonora 
and  Batiscombe  were  still  talking,  and  with  an 
apology  to  the  latter,  he  drew  his  wife  aside  for  a 
moment. 

"I  think,  mon  ange"  he  whispered,  "  that  it 
would  be  better  to  tell  Diana  that  monsieur  is  here 
for  a  week.  She  is  dressing  at  this  moment. 
Would  you  be  so  amiable  as  to  go  to  her  and  say 
in  the  course  of  the  conversation  that  I  have  in 
vited  Monsieur  Batiscombe  ?  It  would  be  very 
gentil  of  you,  ma  chere." 

Leonora  was  not  in  the  humor  to  refuse  her  hus 
band  anything.  Everything  was  bright  and  happy 
to  her,  now  that  she  saw  a  means  of  defence  pro 
vided  for  her  against  the  stately  Diana,  whom  she 
feared.  She  had  recovered  from  her  astonishment 
at  the  sudden  invitation  to  Julius,  and  she  saw  in 
it  a  kind  intention  on  her  husband's  part,  for  which 
she  was  grateful. 

"  Of  course,  mon  ami"  she  answered,  "  I  will  do 
everything  you  like.  Only  amuse  Monsieur  Batis 
combe  for  a  moment,  and  I  will  run  to  Diana,  and 
tell  her  what  you  wish." 


172  TO   LEEWARD. 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  mon  ange  chSrie ! "  ex 
claimed  Marcantonio,  and  he  turned  to  the  task 
of  amusing  Mr.  Batiscombe,  more  delighted  than 
ever. 

Leonora  knocked  rather  timidly  at  the  door  of 
Diana's  sitting-room. 

"  It  is  I,"  she  said,  through  the  door ;  "  may  I 
come  in  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you !  "  exclaimed 
Diana,  rising  swiftly  from  her  couch,  with  a  bright 
smile.  She  took  Leonora's  hand  and  led  her  to  a 
chair,  and  arranged  the  curtains  a  little,  so  as  to 
make  more  light,  and  then  sat  down  by  her  side. 

"  You  must  be  dreadfully  tired,"  said  Leonora, 
"  and  I  ought  not  to  disturb  you.  I  just  wanted  to 
see  if  you  had  everything  you  wanted." 

"  But  everything  —  everything,  I  assure  you," 
answered  Diana.  "  I  am  so  very  comfortable,  and 
the  view  over  the  sea  is  exquisite,  really  de  toute 
beautS." 

They  made  a  wonderful  contrast,  as  they  sat 
side  by  side.  Donna  Diana's  perfect  features  were 
more  mature  than  Leonora's,  her  bearing  was  more 
noble,  and  her  look  more  quiet  and  self-possessed. 
She  wore  a  loose  peignoir  of  white,  with  lace  and 
white  silk  ribbons,  such  as  none  but  perfect 
blondes  can  wear.  But  nothing  could  dim  the 
dazzling  whiteness  of  her  skin,  or  detract  from  her 
marvellous  beauty.  She  was  noble,  calm,  and 
statue-like,  and  it  was  only  now  and  then  that  a 
glance  from  her  deep  gray  eyes  betrayed  the  warm 


TO  LEEWARD.  173 

and  sympathizing  heart  within.  A  grand,  regal 
woman,  fit  to  wear  a  crown  or  to  have  been  the 
priestess  of  an  ancient  people.  She  had  it  all  from 
her  mother,  who  had  been  like  her,  though  in  a 
smaller  mould,  and  had  died,  still  young  and  beau 
tiful,  when  Diana  and  her  brother  were  little  chil 
dren.  It  was  impossible  to  imagine  her  for  a 
moment  deprived  of  her  perfect  grace,  and  ease, 
and  quiet. 

Leonora  was  altogether  more  earthly.  She 
moved  well,  but  often  impetuously.  Her  extraor 
dinary  vitality,  when  not  reduced  by  reaction  to  a 
state  of  unnatural  apathy,  was  forever  seeking  an 
outlet.  She  loved  the  light  and  the  stir  of  society 
life  all  the  while  that  she  amused  herself  with  re 
flecting  on  its  emptiness.  She  was  instinct  with 
strength,  and  motion,  and  elasticity.  Her  skin 
was  always  fresh,  whether  in  heat  or  cold,  but  from 
the  enthusiasm  with  which  she  did  things,  she 
sometimes  lost  the  smoothness  and  "correctness" 
—  as  she  would  have  called  it  —  of  her  appearance. 
And  yet  even  at  such  times  she  had  a  strange  charm 
and  fascination  of  her  own.  As  she  often  said,  she 
was  far  less  beautiful  than  Diana,  but  much  more 
alive,  —  though  with  a  life  that  might  perhaps  be 
less  strong  and  enduring  than  Diana's.  Diana  was 
a  queen  —  Leonora  a  brilliant  and  irresponsible 
princess. 

They  talked  a  little  together,  and  Leonora  found 
it  easy  to  lead  the  conversation  to  the  plans  she 
was  making  for  the  amusement  of  her  sister-in-law. 


174  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  By  the  bye,"  said  she,  "  I  ought  to  tell  you. 
Mr.  Julius  Batiscombe  is  staying  here  this  week. 
I  suppose  you  know  him  ?  " 

Leonora  had  no  idea  of  anything  having  existed 
in  former  times  in  the  way  of  sentiment  between 
Diana  and  Julius.  She  was  sent  to  convey  a  piece 
of  information,  and  she  did  it  as  well  as  she  could, 
not  even  looking  at  Diana  as  she  spoke.  Had  she 
suspected  anything  she  would  have  watched  her, 
and  she  would  have  seen  the  least  possible  trem 
bling  of  the  eyelids,  and  the  lightest  imaginable 
shade  of  annoyance  on  her  guest's  fair  face. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said  calmly,  "  I  know  him.  I 
have  known  him  a  long  time.  So  he  is  staying 
with  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  is  so  very  agreeable,  and  Marcan- 
tonio  wished  it.  He  has  been  in  Sorrento  some 
time,  and  he  took  us  to  Castellamare  to  see  that 
ironclad  launched.  He  is  so  very  clever." 

"  Because  he  took  you  in  his  boat  ?  "  laughed 
Diana.  "  Yes,  my  dear,  a  man  is  clever  indeed 
who  can  get  such  charming  company." 

Leonora  was  pleased  with  the  little  speech,  —  it  - 
sounded  kindly,  and  as  Diana  spoke  she  laid  her 
hand  softly  on  Leonora's. 

"  How  cold  your  hands  are,"  said  Diana.  And 
indeed  they  were  chilled  through,  though  it  was  a 
very  hot  day  in  July.  "  '  Cold  hands,  warm  heart,' 
you  know,  as  the  proverb  says." 

Leonora  blushed  a  little.  It  seemed  so  odd  to 
be  talking  about  Julius  Batiscombe  to  a  stranger 


TO  LEEWARD.  175 

that  it  had  frightened  her  a  little,  and  she  was 
conscious  that  her  heart  beat  faster.  Nevertheless 
she  wondered  vaguely  why  she  ?elt  the  blood  rise 
to  her  cheek.  He  was  only  her  friend,  and  the 
remark  about  the  heart  could  have  nothing  to  do 
with  him. 

But  Diana  supposed  she  changed  color  because 
she  thought  of  Marcantonio.  It  was  natural  for  a 
young  bride  to  blush  at  the  mention  of  her  heart, 
of  course,  and  altogether  charming.  She  patted 
the  cold  little  hand  sympathetically  and  talked  of 
something  else.  It  is  so  easy  to  misunderstand  a 
blush.  But  Leonora  felt  as  though  she  were  being 
patronized,  which  is  the  thing  people  of  her  stamp 
most  bitterly  resent  of  all  others  ;  and  accordingly 
there  sprang  up  in  her  breast  a  little  breeze  of  op 
position,  which  might  by  and  by  blow  a  gale. 

When  the  party  met  in  the  drawing-room  before 
the  midday  breakfast,  everything  seemed  arranged 
for  the  best,  and  Marcantonio  rubbed  his  hands 
with  delight,  and  made  numerous  hospitable  ges 
tures  as  he  walked  round  the  three  lambs  of  his 
fold.  Batiscombe  rose  and  bowed  low  to  Madame 
de  Charleroi.  She  nodded  pleasantly  as  to  an  old 
acquaintance,  and  gave  him  her  hand.  He  turned 
a  little  pale  under  the  sunburnt  bronze  of  his  face. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  she.  "  I  thought 
you  had  probably  been  shipwrecked  in  that  boat  of 
yours.  It  was  in  all  the  cJironiques  in  the  papers, 
you  know." 

"  The  sea  would  not  be  so  ill-bred  as  to  swallow 


176  TO  LEEWARD. 

me  up  before  I  had  had  the  honor  of  making  my 
homage  to  you,  vicomtesse,"  said  Batiscombe  with 
a  bow  and  a  smile.  It  is  so  easy  to  say  pretty 
things  in  French,  and  as  every  one  does  it  no  one 
ever  knows  the  genuine  from  the  spurious.  Diana 
was  well  used  to  Batiseombe's  ways,  and  she 
laughed  a  little.  But  somehow  Leonora  did  not 
like  the  speech.  The  English  part  of  her  revolted 
against  a  generality  of  gallant  language,  though 
her  Russian  blood  made  it  quite  possible  for  her  to 
accept  such  things  when  addressed  to  herself. 

Breakfast  was  announced. 

" JUbn  Dieu"  exclaimed  Marcantonio,  smiling 
at  everybody,  "  it  is  the  most  charming  partie 
carree  imaginable.  But  there  arises  a  terrible 
question  of  precedence.  I  must  evidently  give  my 
arm  to  my  wife  or  to  my  sister.  It  is  very  grave. 
Mesdames,  I  pray  you,  select." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Leonora,  "  Diana  is  the  guest. 
It  is  to  her  that  you  must  give  your  arm ;  and 
Monsieur  Batiscombe  must  console  himself  as  he 
can."  Everybody  smiled  politely,  as  people  do 
over  the  inanities  of  a  very  cheerful  and  empress 6 
host. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Batiscombe  in  English,  as  he 
and  Leonora  followed  the  other  couple  into  the 
breakfast-room  at  a  little  distance. 

It  became  the  duty  of  Batiscombe  and  the  two 
ladies  to  make  Marcantonio  believe  that  they  were 
all  enjoying  themselves  and  each  other  immensely  ; 
their  duty  it  was  —  the  sacred  and  unavoidable 


TO  LEEWARD.  177 

duty  of  society  towards  its  entertainers.  Batis- 
combe  found  the  situation  very  unpleasant.  Diana 
wished  the  week  well  over,  and  bore  her  part  with 
the  unfaltering  serenity  and  cheerfulness  that  well- 
bred  sovereigns  exhibit  when  they  are  obliged  to 
do  some  of  the  thousand  disagreeable  things  that 
make  up  most  of  their  lives.  Leonora  was  begin 
ning  to  be  quite  sure  she  could  never  like  Diana. 
How  could  she  like  a  woman  who  assumed  airs  of 
superiority  ?  Diana  was  not  in  the  least  like  the 
young  ladies  whom  she  knew  in  Rome,  and  whom, 
she  promised  herself,  she  would  rule  with  a  rod  of 
iron  now  that  she  was  married.  And  Marcantonio 
smiled  and  said  all  the  pleasantest  things  he  could 
imagine;  and  they  were  many,  for  pleasantness 
was  his  strong  point.  Batiscombe  seconded  him 
to  the  best  of  his  ability,  and  every  now  and  then 
reflected  far  an  instant  on  the  extraordinary  posi 
tion  in  which  he  found  himself. 

Indeed,  he  had  cause  to  wonder  at  the  strange 
ness  of  fate.  There  he  sat,  eating  his  breakfast 
between  the  woman  who  had  dominated  him  all 
his  life,  and  the  woman  who  fascinated  him  in  the 
present,  with  ample  opportunity  to  compare  them 
with  each  other,  and  a  determination  not  to  do  it. 
It  seemed  as  though  Diana's  coming  had  roused  in 
him  a  feeling  of  contrariety,  as  it  had  in  Leonora, 
though  for  quite  different  reasons.  Diana  knew 
well  enough,  he  thought,  that  she  ruled  him  and 
could  bring  him  to  her  feet  in  a  moment.  Why, 
then,  if  she  did  not  want  him  herself,  did  she  come 

12 


178  TO  LEEWARD. 

and  disturb  his  peace  and  happiness?  She  need 
not  have  prevented  him  from  enjoying*  the  society 
of  a  charming  woman,  but  she  undoubtedly  would. 
He  knew  well  enough  that  her  presence  would  be 
a  check  on  the  daily  and  hourly  intercourse  with 
Leonora  which  he  just  now  most  desired.  She 
would  not  believe  in  the  friendship  which  had 
seemed  so  real  to  Leonora  and  so  possible  to  him 
self.  She  would  watch  him  with  those  gray  eyes 
of  hers  that  knew  him  so  well,  and  when  she  had 
an  opportunity,  she  would  give  him  a  wholesome 
lecture  on  the  error  of  his  ways.  He  knew  Diana 
well,  and  she  knew  him  better. 

He  was  forced  to  confess  that  she  was  more 
beautiful,  more  stately,  and  more  perfect  now,  at 
eight  and  twenty,  than  she  had  been  ten  years  ago 
at  eighteen ;  that,  if  she  lifted  her  finger  to  him 
now,  he  would  be  more  entirely  her  .servant  and 
slave  than  ever  before ;  and  that  in  the  bottom  of 
his  heart  he  wished  she  would  do  so  as  he  wished 
no  other  thing  in  the  world.  At  the  same  time  he 
knew  perfectly  well  that  she  would  not,  and  he 
thought  it  was  not  fair  of  her  to  disturb  an  in 
nocent  friendship  which  had,  by  force  of  circum 
stances,  assumed  a  peculiar  aspect.  She  excited  in 
him  all  the  obstinacy  which  attends  weakness  — 
and  Julius  was  a  weak  man  where  women  were  con 
cerned.  And  whether  he  would  or  not,  he  made 
up  his  mind  not  to  relinquish  his  daily  enjoyment 
of  talking  to  Leonora  for  all  the  Dianas  in  the 
world,  —  if  it  was  only  to  please  his  own  vanity. 


TO  LEEWARD.  179 

The  repast  was  somehow  or  other  a  success  as 
far  as  Marcantonio  was  concerned.  He  felt  that 
everything  was  proceeding  as  it  should,  that  all  his 
provisions  had  turned  out  well,  and  that  he  was 
a  happy  husband  and  a  happy  brother.  He  was  in 
complete  ignorance  of  Julius  Batiscombe's  daily 
visits  to  his  wife  during  his  absence.  She  had 
meant  to  tell  him,  honestly,  how  pleasant  it  had  all 
been,  and  how  much  she  had  enjoyed  it ;  but,  some 
how,  the  invitation  to  Batiscoinbe  to  stay  in  the 
house  had  made  her  put  it  off.  Marcantonio  was 
so«odd  about  some  things,  he  was  sure  to  want  so 
many  explanations ;  she  could  tell  him  just  as  well 
after  Diana  and  Batiscombe  were*  gone ;  and  then, 
of  course,  it  would  not  matter  so  much.  She  knew 
that  Julius  would  never  refer  to  all  those  days  un 
less  she  herself  did.  If  only  that  terrible  Diana 
did  not  see  or  find  out !  How  dreadful  it  would 
be  to  have  her  say  anything  to  Marcantonio ! 


CHAPTER   XII. 

A  COUNTRY-HOUSE  is  a  glass  house.  The  more 
people  there  are  staying  in  it,  the  more  fragile 
and  delicate  are  the  walls,  and  the  more  probability 
there  is  that  some  one  will  be  inspired  by  the  Evil 
One  to  throw  stones.  Sometimes  it  happens  that 
two  or  three  of  a  party  fight  a  pitched  battle, 
and  then  some  lucky  lovers  who  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  hostilities  are  forgotten  and  overlooked 
in  the  din  of  war.  But  if  there  is  one  thing  in 
the  world  more  certain  to  get  out  than  murder 
it  is  love,  righteous  or  unrighteous.  Lovers  who 
desire  secrecy  should  never  go  to  country-houses 
together. 

It  seems  to  them  as  though  each  and  every  mem 
ber  of  the  household  had  especially  adopted  a  set 
of  vile  and  pernicious  habits ;  a  determination  to 
be  where  they  ought  not,  at  all  sorts  of  unexpected 
hours ;  to  come  skulking  round  corners  under  the 
empty  pretext  of  seeking  shade,  and  to  be  found 
lurking  in  wooded  dells  on  pretence  of  studying 
natural  history.  There  is  the  matutinal  fiend, 
who  shaves  at  the  window  in  the  gray  dawn  and 
sees  people  who  have  got  up  for  an  early  walk ; 
and,  verily,  they  feel  like  worms  when  they  glance 
up  and  see  his  beak  and  talons  at  the  casement. 


TO  LEEWARD.  181 

There  is  also  the  demon  that  walketh  in  darkness, 
smoking  a  midnight  cigar  on  the  lawn  before  going 
to  bed.  There  is  the  midday  dragon,  green-eyed 
and  loathly  to  behold,  who  steals  out  in  old  gloves 
and  a  parasol  immediately  after  lunch,  because  she 
has  left  her  glasses  on  the  mossy  seat  under  the 
trees,  just  out  of  sight  of  the  house,  and  must 
needs  find  them.  There  is  the  vile  and  sickening 
bookworm,  with  his  bland  smile  and  unhealthy  com 
plexion,  who  dives  into  the  library  in  the  middle  of 
the  summer's  afternoon,  and  ruthlessly  opens  the 
blinds  to  find  the  eighteenth  vohfme  of  "  Jinxius 
de  Naturd  Inanitatis,  Folio,  G  fitting  en,  A.  D.  1  ; " 
and  who  wrinkles  disagreeably  all  over  when  he 
observes  the  couple  in  the  corner,  staring  like 
blushing  owls  in  the  sudden  glare. 

And,  besides  all  these,  there  are  the  low  earth- 
spirits,  —  a  swarm  of  maids,  butlers,  grooms,  stable- 
boys,  and  nurses,  —  who  are  supposed  to  dwell 
somewhere,  underground,  and  are  everlastingly  ap 
pearing,  like  phantoms,  noiseless  and  awful,  with 
ears  like  vast  trumpets  of  endless  capacity  and 
magnifying  power. 

A  country-house  is  a  terrible  test  of  all  the  great 
virtues  of  mankind  and  a  fearful  reflector  of  all 
the  vices.  It  is  well  to  begin  life  in  the  country 
with  an  adequate  certainty  that,  whatever  you  do, 
you  will  be  found  out,  and  that  you  will  often  be 
found  out  when  you  have  done  nothing.  And  a 
villa  hired  in  the  orange  gardens  of  Sorrento,  over 
hanging  the  murmuring  sea  and  sweet  with  the 


182  TO  LEEWARD. 

breath  of  the  rich  south,  is  not  different  in  this 
respect  from  a  Yorkshire  manor-house,  a  chateau 
in  the  south  of  France,  or  a  "  romantic  retreat " 
on  the  Hudson  River. 

For  two  or  three  days  after  the  events  just  chron 
icled,  Leonora  and  Batiscombe  managed  success 
fully  to  spend  several  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four 
in  each  other's  society.  Marcantonio  was  busy 
during  a  great  part  of  the  time  with  correspon 
dence  concerning  the  politics  of  his  party,  and  once 
he  went  over  to  Naples  to  see  an  eminent  person 
on  business.  The  four  inmates  of  the  house  met  at 
meals,  and  in  the  late  afternoon,  when  they  gen 
erally  went  out  in  the  boat.  Donna  Diana  oc 
casionally  sat  with  Leonora  for  an  hour,  and  they 
talked  to  each  other  studiously,  Leonora  trying  her 
best  to  make  the  time  pleasant  for  Diana,  and 
Diana  doing  what  she  could  to  cultivate  her  ac 
quaintance  with  Leonora.  At  the  end  of  two  days 
it  was  perfectly  clear  that  the  two  women  would 
never  be  intimate.  But  they  both  concealed  the 
fact  from  Marcantonio  ;  and  he  rubbed  his  hands, 
and  wrote  his  letters,  and  bought  cartloads  of 
things  for  his  wife,  in  the  comforting  assurance 
that  she  was  very  happy  and  inclined  to  follow  his 
wishes  in  regard  to  his  sister. 

But  Diana  was  not  given  to  looking  after  Leo 
nora  when  she  was  out  of  her  sight,  and  she  spent  a 
great  part  of  the  day  in  writing  letters,  in  reading, 
and  now  and  then  in  calling  on  a  few  acquaintances 
who  lived  along  the  shore  in  the  villas  towards 


TO  LEEWARD.  183 

Castellamare.  She  was  glad  that  Batiscombe  kept 
out  of  her  way,  but  she  did  not  exactly  understand 
why  he  did  so.  He  was  generally  extremely  anx 
ious  to  see  as  much  as  possible  of  her  when  he  was 
in  her  neighborhood.  Could  it  be  that  he  did  not 

O 

love  her  any  longer  ?  that  after  all  these  years  he 
had  at  last  put  her  out  of  his  mind  ?  Perhaps  so. 
She  was  glad  if  it  were  so,  most  truly.  She  had 
many  times  prayed  with  her  whole  soul  that  he 
might  forget  her.  It  might  be  that  the  prayer  was 
answered.  At  all  events,  he  kept  out  of  her  way, 
and  she  did  not  regret  it,  or  ever  give  him  a  sign  to 
come  to  her.  She  supposed  that  he  spent  his  hours 
with  Leonora  or  Marcantonio  or  both,  and  there 
was  no  reason  why  he  should  not  be  intimate  in  the 
house,  so  far  as  she  herself  was  concerned. 

One  day  it  chanced  that  the  wind  was  in  the 
south,  blowing  a  hot  blast  and  making  everything 
very  hazy  and  sultry  that  was  out  of  its  reach,  and 
covering  everything  it  touched  with  a  disagreeable 
mixture  of  dust  and  clamminess.  Every  one  who 
has  lived  in  Italy  knows  what  the  scirocco  is  like, 
and  the  dismal  stickiness,  to  coin  the  word,  which 
it  brings.  It  seems  as  though  the  universe  were 
under  a  press  and  some  one  were  screwing  it  down. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and 
Madame  de  Charleroi  was  sitting  in  her  small 
boudoir,  trying  to  write  a  letter  to  her  husband. 
Unlike  most  Italians,  she  had  not  the  habit  of 
sleeping  in  the  day,  and  used  the  time  when  other 
people  were  taking  a  nap  during  the  great  heat  to 


184  TO  LEEWARD. 

keep  up  an  extensive  correspondence.  She  was  a 
woman  who  had  made  this  one  interest  for  herself, 
and  thoroughly  enjoyed  being  in  constant  communi 
cation  with  a  dozen  intelligent  people  in  all  parts 
of  the  world. 

It  was  excessively  hot.  Even  she,  who  was 
southern  born  and  did  not  mind  it,  felt  her  brain 
grow  dizzy  and  her  fingers  tired  and  clammy.  Leo 
nora's  white  kitten  had  strayed  into  the  room  after 
lunch,  and  was  walking  about  near  the  door, 
squeaking  now  and  then  as  though  it  did  not  like 
the  quarters  and  wanted  to  get  out.  For  the  mere 
sake  of  changing  her  position,  Diana  laid  down 
her  pen  and  rose  to  open  the  door.  As  she  did  so 
the  cat  jumped  nimbly  through,  and  a  little  breath 
of  cooler  air  blew  in  from  the  passage.  Diana 
stood  one  moment  as  though  enjoying  it,  and  then 
went  out.  She  took  a  parasol  in  the  hall,  and 
walked  slowly  down  the  garden.  The  sky  was 
overcast  with  a  dull  leaden  gray,  and  the  south 
wind  blew  under  the  trees,  bad  enough  in  itself, 
but  infinitely  better  than  the  close  heat  indoors. 
There  was  no  one  to  be  seen,  and  Diana  paced 
slowly  along  the  gravel  path.  At  the  end  of  it 
were  the  steps  that  led  through  the  rocks  to  the 
sea. 

She  had  gone  down  and  come  up  again  more 
than  once  with  the  rest  of  the  party  in  the  evening, 
when  they  had  been  out  in  the  boat,  and  she  had 
thought  each  time  that  it  would  be  pleasant  to 
come  and  sit  in  some  of  the  cool  archways  and  look 


TO  LEEWARD.  185 

out  over  the  sea  in  the  heat  of  the  day.  She  felt 
sure,  too,  of  being  alone  there ;  it  was  not  a  likely 
place  for  any  one  to  frequent  at  three  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon.  Diana  closed  her  parasol,  and,  just 
lifting  the  skirt  of  her  white  dress  off  the  ground, 
began  to  descend  the  broad  stone  steps,  hewn  out 
of  the  solid  rock,  a  steep  vaulted  tunnel  in  the  in 
side  of  the  cliff.  Here  and  there  a  great  arched 
window  looked  out,  in  which  were  cut  broad  seats 
for  people  to  rest  upon. 

She  had  passed  through  the  darkest  part  of  the 
descent,  carefully  picking  her  way,  when  she  sud 
denly  found  herself  opposite  to  one  of  these  win 
dows.  She  was  startled  to  see  two  people  sitting 
there,  for  she  had  been  certain  that  she  would  be 
alone.  They  were  Leonora  and  Batiscombe,  sit 
ting  side  by  side  on  the  seat  under  the  arched 
opening.  Hearing  her  tread  they  both  looked 
round,  and  Julius  seemed  to  pick  up  something 
from  the  floor  that  had  probably  fallen  while  they 
were  talking.  Then  he  remained  standing,  and 
Diana,  seeing  she  was  discovered,  advanced  boldly 
toward  the  pair.  There  was  nothing  so  extraor 
dinary  in  the  situation  after  all,  only  she  had  al 
ways  supposed  that  Leonora  slept  in  the  afternoon 
while  Batiscombe  and  Marcantonio  smoked  and 
talked  politics  up-stairs.  They  had  certainly  been 
sitting  very  near  together,  she  thought,  but  the  sud 
den  glare  of  the  light  and  the  distance  that  sep 
arated  her  from  them  had  prevented  her  from  no 
ticing  their  faces.  As  she  came  near,  Leonora  rose 


186  TO  LEEWARD. 

also  and  spoke  first.  She  held  her  back  to  the 
light,  for  she  was  blushing  deeply ;  but  Batiscombe, 
who  never  blushed  and  rarely  turned  pale,  stood 
calmly  pulling  his  moustache,  as  though  it  were 
all  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

"  I  had  always  meant  to  tell  you  how  delightful 
it  is  here,"  said  Leonora.  "  I  am  so  glad  you  have 
found  it  out  for  yourself." 

"En  effet"  answered  Madame  de  Charleroi 
calmly  smiling,  "it  is  ideal."  She  came  under  the 
arch  and  looked  out,  enjoying  the  sight  of  the  sea 
after  the  dark  passages. 

"  And  then,"  said  Leonora,  "  it  is  strictly  true 
that  one  is  ;  not  at  home  '  when  one  is  here,  —  if 
people  call,  it  is  very  convenient.  Nobody  can 
find  one." 

"Excepting  Madame  de  Charleroi,"  said  Batis 
combe,  who  was  very  angry  at  the  interruption  of 
his  tete-d-tete.  But  he  said  it  so  pleasantly  and 
with  such  an  air  of  paying  a  compliment,  that 
Diana  could  not  be  offended ;  she  only  smiled  a 
little  bitterly  in  her  lofty  way,  remembering  other 
times  when  he  would  have  given  his  right  hand 
for  a  meeting  of  any  kind  with  her. 

In  that  moment  a  suspicion  crossed  Diana's 
mind.  She  understood  the  meaning  of  his  re 
mark  perfectly,  in  spite  of  the  bow  and  tho  smile, 
knowing,  as  she  did,  every  intonation  of  his  voice 
and  every  expression  of  his  face.  She  knew 
that  he  was  angry  at  the  interruption,  and  she 
argued  that  Julius  preferred  being  with  Leonora 


TO  LEEWARD.  187 

to  being  with  herself.  That  was  clearly  the  reason 
why  he  kept  out  of  her  way,  —  he  spent  his  time 
with  Leonora.  If  Leonora  attracted  him,  he  was 
certainly  at  liberty  to  talk  to  her  if  he  pleased  ; 
but  Diana  thought  it  must  be  a  strong  attraction 
indeed  that  kept  him  away  from  herself.  It  was 
long  since  he  had  missed  an  opportunity  of  spend 
ing  an  hour  with  his  old  love. 

Diana  sat  down  beside  Leonora,  and  Batis- 
combe  leaned  against  the  rock  and  looked  out  over 
the  sea,  the  angry  fire  dancing  in  his  blue  eyes,  but 
his  face  as  calm  as  ever.  Diana  began  to  talk  to 
Leonora. 

"  You  are  very  fortunate  in  getting  such  a  place," 
she  said.  "  It  is  by  far  the  most  beautiful  on  the 
whole  shore." 

"  I  wish  it  belonged  to  us,"  said  Leonora.  "  I 
am  sure  I  could  come  here  every  year  and  never 
grow  tired  of  it." 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  Diana,  "  do  you  like  it  so 
very  much  then  ?  " 

"J'en  raffole !  "  answered  Leonora  enthusiasti 
cally,  "  I  am  crazy  about  it.  And  then,  it  is  al 
ways  so  charming  to  have  absolutely  the  best.  As 
you  say,  there  is  nothing  like  this  place  on  the 
whole  bay.  I  would  like  always  to  have  the  best." 

"  Mais,  madame,"  remarked  Batiscombe,  "  it 
appears  to  me  that  you  always  do.  You  have  the 
talent  of  supremacy." 

"  What  an  idea !     The  talent  of  supremacy  !  " 

"  But   that   is   precisely   it,"    continued   Julius. 


188  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  It  is  a  talent.  Some  people  are  born  with  it,  — 
generally  women." 

"  That  is  Monsieur  Batiseombe's  favorite  theory," 
remarked  Madame  de  Charleroi,  just  glancing  at 
him,  "  but  he  does  not  believe  it  the  least  in  the 
world." 

"Is  it  true  ?  "  asked  Leonora,  innocently,  look 
ing  up  with  an  expression  that  did  not  escape 
Diana.  It  was  a  sort  of  frightened  look,  as  though 
it  really  mattered  to  her  what  Batiscombe  thought 
about  women  in  general. 

"  It  pleases  madame  to  be  witty,"  answered 
Julius,  glancing  in  his  turn  at  Diana.  "  I  have 
not  many  theories,  but  I  believe  in  them  as  a 
man  who  is  about  to  be  guillotined  believes  in 
death." 

"  One  cannot  say  more  than  that,"  laughed  Le 
onora.  "  But  how  about  the  supremacy  of  men  ? 
There  have  been  more  men  in  the  world  who  have 
ruled  it  than  there  have  ever  been  women." 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  Men  give  themselves  much  more 
trouble,"  he  replied.  "  Women,  having  the  divine 
right  given  to  them  straight  from  Heaven,  exercise 
it  without  difficulty.  A  word,  a  cup  of  tea,  a 
glance,  —  and  the  supremacy  of  a  woman  is  estab 
lished.  What  could  a  man  do  with  a  cup  of  tea  ? 
Or,  if  he  looked  at  people  by  the  hour  together, 
could  he  rule  them  with  a  glance  ?  When  a  woman 
has  the  gift  she  finds  little  difficulty  in  using  it,  — 
whereas  the  more  of  it  a  man  has,  the  more  trouble 
it  is  to  him.  Men  are  so  'betes  I "  And  with  this 


TO  LEEWARD.  189 

sweeping  condemnation  of  his  own  sex,  Julius  lit 
a  cigarette,  having  obtained  permission  of  the  two 
ladies. 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  many  friends,  with  such 
ideas  about  men,"  said  Leonora. 

"  En  effet"  said  Diana,  "  he  has  none." 

"  Not  among  men,  at  all  events,"  said  Julius. 
"  I  do  not  remember  ever  having  any.  I  do  not 
sleep  any  the  worse  on  that  account,  I  assure  you. 
It  is  much  more  agreeable  to  have  a  number  of 
pleasant  acquaintances,  who  expect  nothing  from 
you  and  from  whom  you  expect  nothing.  Friend 
ship  implies  mutual  obligations  ;  I  detest  that." 

Leonora  laughed  a  little.  He  had  such  a  vicious 
way  of  saying  such  things,  as  though,  he  thoroughly 
meant  them.  But  then  he  was  courteous  and  gentle 
to  every  one,  though  she  suspected  he  might  be 
different  if  he  were  angry.  Diana  knew  very  well 
that  what  he  said  was  true,  and  that  he  had  led  an 
isolated  life  among  other  men,  fighting  his  way 
through  with  his  own  hand  and  owing  no  man  any 
thing.  She  herself  had  for  years  been  his  best 
friend  and  his  only  confidant,  though  he  saw  her 
rarely  enough.  And  now  she  felt  as  though  even 
that  one  bond  of  his  were  to  be  broken,  —  and 
whether  she  would  or  not,  the  thought  gave  her 
pain,  and  she  wished  it  could  be  otherwise. 

"  It  is  always  far  more  amusing  to  detest  things," 
said  Leonora,  "  unless  you  happen  to  want  them." 
She  was  forgetting  some  of  her  indifferentism. 

"  It  is  certainly  more  blessed  to  abuse  than  to 


190  TO  LEEWARD. 

be  abused,"  returned  Julius,  "  and,  if  one  has  the 
choice,  it  is  as  well  to  be  the  hammer  and  not  the 
anvil.  I  am  an  excessively  good-natured  person, 
and  if  I  had  friends,  they  would  make  an  anvil  of 
me  and  beat  my  brains  out,  —  and  then  I  should 
starve." 

"  Good-natured  people  are  always  made  to  suf 
fer,"  said  Leonora  thoughtfully.  "  I  am  not  in  the 
least  good-natured." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Diana,  "  that  Mr.  Batis- 
combe  used  to  say  good-nature  was  a  mixture  of 
laziness  and  vulgarity." 

"Yes,"  answered  Julius.  "You  have  a  good 
memory,  madame.  Good-nature  is  a  compound  of 
the  laziness  that  cannot  say  '  no,'  and  of  the  vul 
garity  which  desires  to  please  every  one  indiscrimi 
nately.  I  suppose  I  possess  both  those  faults  very 
finely  developed." 

"  Fortunately,"  remarked  Leonora,  "  goodness 
and  good-nature  are  not  the  same." 

"  Fortunately  for  you,  marchesa,  —  unfortunately 
for  me,"  said  Julius. 

"  It  is  too  complicated  —  please  explain,"  she 
answered. 

"  As  you  are  so  fortunate  as  to  possess  goodness 
without  good-nature,"  said  he,  "  you  should  be  glad 
that  the  two  are  not  one  and  the  same,  since 
good-nature  is  not  a  desirable  quality.  I  am  good- 
natured,  but  not  good  —  I  wish  I  were  !  " 

"  Ah,  I  see ! "  exclaimed  Diana.  "  It  was  a 
compliment." 


TO  LEEWARD.  191 

"  Of  course,"  said  Julius. 

"  Of  course ;  but  your  compliments  are  often 
complicated,  as  the  marchesa  says."  Diana  smiled 
as  she  spoke.  Batiscombe  knew  that  she  was  re 
paying  him  for  the  remark  he  had  made  when  she 
had  unexpectedly  appeared  twenty  minutes  earlier. 

"  I  can  only  repeat,"  he  retorted,  "  that  Madame 
de  Charleroi  has  a  good  memory."  Leonora  was 
puzzled.  She  saw  well  enough  that  Diana  and 
Julius  were,  or  had  been,  much  more  intimate  than 
she  had  supposed.  They  understood  each  other 
at  a  glance,  by  a  word,  and  they  seemed  on  the 
verge  of  quarrelling  politely  over  nothing.  She 
devoutly  wished  that  Diana  would  go  away,  instead 
of  spoiling  her  afternoon.  But  Diana  leaned  back 
against  the  rock  and  crossed  her  feet  and  pre 
pared  to  be  comfortable.  She  was  evidently  not 
going.  Batiscombe  stood  motionless  with  the  easy 
stolidity  of  a  very  strong  man  who  does  not  wish 
to  move,  and  Leonora  could  see  his  bold  profile 
against  the  gray  haze  of  the  sky.  There  was  a 
short  silence  after  his  last  remark,  during  which 
Leonora  felt  uneasy :  something  was  in  the  atmos 
phere  that  made  her  anxious,  and  she  did  not  like 
the  way  Diana  looked  at  Batiscombe,  with  an  air 
of  absolute  superiority,  as  though  she  could  do  any 
thing  she  pleased  with  him. 

"  How  dreadfully  solemn  we  are,"  said  Leonora, 
rather  awkwardly.  Julius  turned  quickly  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Let  us  be  gay,"  he  said.     "  I  hate  solemnity, 


192  TO  LEEWARD. 

unless  there  is  enough  of  it  to  make  me  laugh.  I 
remember  being  at  a  ball  once  that  produced  that 
effect." 

"Allans!  "  said  Diana,  "give  us  some  of  your 
reminiscences,  Monsieur  Batiscombe.  They  ought 
to  be  interesting," 

o 

'  Not  so  much  as  you  think,*  vicomtesse.  But 
the  ball  was  very  funny.  It  was  in  Guatemala, 
three  years  ago.  Lwas  invited  to  a  huge  thing  by 
the  president  —  an  entirely  new  president,  too,  who 
had  just  cut  the  throats  of  the  old  president  and  of 
all  his  relations.  I  believe  there  was  some  sort  of 
revolution  at  the  time,  and  when  it  was  over  the 
victorious  individual  gave  a  ball.  The  refresh- 
ments  were  simple  —  brandy  for  the  men  and 
rosolio  for  the  ladies ;  there  was  no  compromise  in 
the  shape  of  a  biscuit  or  a  glass  of  water." 

Leonora  laughed,  being  willing  to  laugh  at  any 
thing  so  as  to  encourage  Julius  to  talk. 

"  En  verite,  that  was  very  amusing,"  remarked 
Diana  coldly.  Batiscombe  took  no  notice. 

"  The  women  sat  round  the  room  in  a  double 
row,"  he  continued,  "  like  a  court  ball,  excepting 
that  they  all  smoked  large  cigars,  and  industriously 
passed  the  liqueur.  The  men  stood  behind  and 
gave  their  undivided  attention  to  the  brandy.  Not 
a  soul  spoke,  and  they  all  scowled  fiercely  at  the 
brandy,  the  rosolio,  and  each  other.  A  ghastly 
and  tuneless  quartette  of  instruments  doled  out  a 
melancholy  dirge,  slower  than  anything  you  ever 
heard  at  a  funeral ;  and  now  and  then  some  enter- 


TO  LEEWARD.  193 

prising  and  funereal  man  led  out  a  less  enterprising 
but  equally  melancholy  female  in  a  strange  step, 
like  the  tormented  ghost  of  a  waltz  in  chains.  It 
was  so  hideous  that  I  went  out  and  laughed  till  I 
almost  had  a  fit.  I  have  never  thought  anything 
seemed  very  solemn  since  then  —  it  destroyed  the 
proportion  in  my  brain.  A  pauper's  burial  on  a 
rainy  day  in  London  is  a  wildly  gay  entertainment 
compared  with  that  ball." 

Leonora  laughed,  and  even  Diana  smiled  ;  where 
upon  Julius  was  satisfied,  and  relapsed  into  silence. 
But  Leonora  wanted  conversation. 

"  What  in  the  world  took  you  to  Guatemala,  Mr. 
Batiscombe  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  That  is  a  question  which  I  cannot  answer, 
marchesa,"  he  replied.  "  I  believe  I  went  there 
for  some  reason  or  other  —  chiefly  because  I  could 
go  for  nothing,  and  wanted  to  see  something  new." 

"  Can  you  always  go  to  Guatemala  for  nothing  ?  " 
asked  Leonora.  "  It  must  be  very  amusing." 

"  A  steamer  company  offered  me  a  free  passage 
to  any  port  in  their  service,"  said  Batiscombe ; 
"  and  as  the  next  ship  went  to  Guatemala,  I  sailed 
with  her.  It  happened  to  be  first  on  the  list." 

"  What  a  queer  idea !  "  exclaimed  Leonora. 

"  You  are  too  modest,  Mr.  Batiscombe,"  said 
Diana.  "  You  ought  to  tell  the  whole  story  —  it  is 
very  interesting."  Her  voice  was  less  cold  than 
when  she  spoke  last. 

"  Oh,  do  tell  the  story !  "  cried  Leonora.  "  I 
adore  autobiographies !  " 

13 


194  TO   LEEWARD. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  said  Julius,  "  there  is  very  little 
to  tell.  I  did  a  service  to  a  ship  belonging  to  the 
company,  and  in  acknowledgment  they  presented 
me  with  a  piece  of  plate  and  the  free  passage  in 
question.  Voild  tout !  madame  is  too  good  when 
she  says  it  was  interesting." 

"  If  Monsieur  Batiscombe  wiU  not  be  so  obliging 
as  to  relate  the  experience,  I  will,"  said  Diana. 
u  He  will  correct  me  if  I  make  a  mistake." 

Batiscombe  looked  annoyed.  He  was  not  fond 
of  telling  his  own  adventures,  and  he  hated  to  hear 
them  told  by  other  people.  He  could  not  imagine 
why  Diana  wanted  to  hear  the  story.  He  was 
irritated  already,  and  her  conduct  seemed  more 
and  more  inexplicable.  Leonora  looked  at  him  ex 
pectantly. 

Who  can  understand  a  woman  ?  It  may  be  that 
Diana,  who  was  really  fond  of  him  in  a  strange 
fashion,  was  sorry  for  the  position  she  had  taken 
that  afternoon,  and  was  willing  to  atone  by  giving 
him  the  credit  before  Leonora  of  some  fine  action 
he  had  done. 

"  It  was  three  years  ago  or  more,  in  the  winter," 
began  Diana.  "  Monsieur  Batiscombe  was  travel 
ling  in  a  ship  on  the  coast  of  America.  There  were 
a  hundred  passengers  on  board,  or  more,  and  a  crew 
of  thirty-five.  Is  that  exact  ?  " 

Julius  bent  his  head  and  turned  away. 

"  Eh  bien,  there  was  a  great  storm  —  such  as 
there  are  in  the  ocean.  It  is  horrible,  you  may 
imagine.  The  ship  was  driven  on  the  rocks,  a 


TO  LEEWARD.  195 

long  distance  from  the  shore.  A  reef,  you  call  it, 
n'est-ce-pasf  " 

"Yes,"  said  Batiscombe.  "  Fifty  or  sixty  yards 
from  the  shore." 

"  Good.  What  do  they  do  ?  Six  brave  sailors 
volunteer  to  throw  themselves  in  the  sea  in  a  cha- 
loupe  —  a  miserable  boat  "  — 

"And  monsieur  was  one  of  the  volunteers"  — 
exclaimed  Leonora,  enthusiastically. 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear  friend.  The  boat  over 
turns  ;  the  sailors  are  immediately  drowned;  every 
one  is  in  consternation.  Then  Monsieur  Batis 
combe  arrives ;  he  says  he  will  save  everybody  ; 
he  ties  a  thin  line  —  a  mere  ficelle  —  to  his  waist ; 
he  throws  himself  to  the  sea.  The  passengers 
scream  as  they  cling  to  the  ropes  and  the  side,  while 
the  vessel  is  beaten  horribly  on  the  reef.  He 
struggles  in  the  waves,  swimming  ;  he  is  thrown 
down  again  and  again  in  the  breakers  ;  he  rises  and 
rushes  on  to  the  shore.  Then  he  pulls  the  string, 
and  after  the  string  a  rope.  A  sailor  ventures 
down  and  he  also  reaches  the  land.  They  fasten 
the  rope,  and  every  one  is  saved  —  passengers,  crew, 
captain,  tout  le  monde.  Ah,  Batiscombe,  why  are 
you  not  always  doing  such  things,  —  you,  who  can 
do  them  so  well  ?  " 

Madame  de  Charleroi's  gray  eyes  were  wide  and 
bright,  and  a  very  faint  color  rose  to  her  cheeks  as 
she  told  the  story.  The  calm,  regal  woman  took 
a  genuine  delight  in  great  actions,  and  as  she  turned 
to  Julius  at  the  end  there  was  a  ring  of  real  sym- 


196  TO  LEEWARD. 

pathy  and  friendship  and  regret  in-  her  voice  that  it 
gave  Leonora  a  strange  sensation  to  hear. 

"  It  was  magnificently  brave  !  "  exclaimed  Leo 
nora  in  English,  and  she  looked  at  Julius  as  though 
she  admired  him  with  all  her  heart  and  soul.  She 
had  always  had  a  feeling  that  he  had  probably 
made  himself  remarkable  in  such  ways,  but  he 
always  had  told  her  that  his  life  had  been  unevent 
ful.  To  think  that  this  calm,  smooth,  well-dressed, 
fine  gentleman  should  have  saved  a  whole  shipload 
of  lives  by  sheer  strength  and  courage!  Ah,  he 
was  a  man,  indeed  ! 

But  Batiscombe  never  moved.  He  stood  looking 
seaward,  his  eyelids  half  closed,  and  a  thoughtful 
look  on  his  brown  face.  Indeed,  he  was  thinking 
deeply,  but  not  of  the  old  story  Diana  had  been 
telling  as  much  as  of  herself.  The  strange  appeal 
in  her  last  words  had  touched  the  good  chord  in 
his  wayward  heart,  and  he  was  thinking  how  fair 
his  life  might  have  been  with  her,  —  and  how  dark 
it  had  been  without  her.  And  the  old  true  love 
rose  up  for  one  moment,  hiding  Leonora  and  the 
rest,  and  all  the  intervening  years,  and  sending  hot 
words  to  his  ready  lips.  He  turned  in  the  act  to 
speak,  forgetting  where  he  was,  —  then  checked 
himself.  Both  Leonora  and  Diana  had  seen  that 
he  was  going  to  say  something,  for  they  were  watch 
ing  him.  He  hesitated. 

"I  ought  to  thank  you,  madame,"  he  said  to 
Diana,  "  for  gilding  my  adventure  so  richly.  But 
as  for  the  thing  itself,  and  the  doing  of  such  things, 


TO  LEEWARD.  197 

the  opportunity  seldom  offers,  and  the  faculty  for 
doing  them  is  the  result  of  an  excellent  digestion 
and  quiet  nerves.  Meanwhile  it  is  grown  cooler, 
and  the  boats  are  below.  Shall  we  go  down,  and 
sail  a  little  before  dinner  ?  " 

The  two  ladies  consented  readily  enough,  and 
they  all  descended  to  the  shore  and  got  into  one  of 
the  boats  and  pushed  away. 

"I  shall  have  quite  a  new  sensation  in  future 
when  I  sail  with  you,  Mr.  Batiscombe,"  said  Leo 
nora.  "  It  would  be  impossible  to  be  drowned  with 
you  on  board." 

But  Diana  was  pale  again,  and  settled  herself 
among  the  cushions  in  silence. 

Far  up  above,  Marcantonio  was  interviewing  the 
coachman  on  the  terrace.  He  looked  down  and 
saw  the  boat  shoot  out  with  the  three  members  of 
his  household.  He  rubbed  his  hands  smoothly  to 
gether. 

"  Ha,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  it  is  superb !  What 
good  friends  they  are  all  growing  to  be  !  En  verite, 
Batiscombe  is  a  most  amiable  man,  full  of  tact." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

LATE  that  evening  Julius  was  sitting  in  a  corner 
of  the  broad  terrace  over  the  sea.  The  clouds  had 
cleared  away  before  the  light  easterly  breeze  that 
springs  up  at  night,  and  the  stars  shone  brightly. 
Down  in  the  west  the  young  moon  had  set,  and  the 
air  was  fresh  and  cool  after  the  long,  hot  day. 
Julius  had  drawn  an  arm-chair  away  from  the  house 
and  was  smoking  solemnly,  in  enjoyment  of  the 
night.  He  found  that  he  had  much  to  think  of. 
The  rest  of  the  household  had  gone  to  bed,  or  at 
all  events  had  retired  to  their  rooms. 

It  had  been  a  day  of  emotions  with  him,  and 
that  was  unusual,  to  begin  with.  His  feeling  for 
Leonora  was  growing  to  great  proportions.  Ho 
knew  that  very  well ;  and  in  spite  of  the  momen 
tary  burst  of  passion,  which,  if  he  had  been  alone 
with  Madame  de  Charleroi,  would  have  found  ex 
pression  in  words  that  he  would  have  regretted  and 
that  she  would  have  resented,  he  now  felt  that  he 
was  irritated  against  her  and  could  not  forgive 
the  inopportune  interruption  of  his  tete-d-tete  with 
Leonora.  All  his  opposition  was  roused  ;  and  as 
if  in  despite  of  his  old  love  he  dwelt  on  the  thoughts 
of  the  present,  and  delighted  in  recalling  the  de 
tails  of  the  fair  marchesa's  conversation,  the  quickly 


TO  LEEWARD.  199 

changing  expression  of  her  face$  the  tones  of  her 
voice,  the  grace  of  her  movements.  She  was  so 
strong  and  living  that  he  felt  his  whole  being  per 
meated  with  the  atmosphere  and  essence  of  her 
life. 

As  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  he  experienced 
a  sensation  by  no  means  new  to  him,  of  intense  de 
light  in  existence,  and  he  breathed  in  the  soft  fresh 
air,  and  tasted  that  it  was  the  breath  of  love. 

A  small,  short  step  sounded  on  the  tiles  of  the 
terrace,  coming  toward  his  corner.  He  looked 
round  quickly,  and  was  aware  of  the  tall  and  grace 
ful  figure  of  Diana  de  Charleroi,  muffled  in  some 
thing  dark,  but  unmistakable  in  its  outline  and 
stately  presence.  In  a  moment  she  was  beside  him  ; 
he  rose  and  threw  away  his  cigarette,  somewhat 
astonished. 

"  Get  another  chair,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  It  is  pleasant  here." 

He  obeyed  quickly  and  noiselessly,  as  he  did 
everything.  She  had  taken  his  chair,  and  he  sat 
down  beside  her,  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 

"  I  thought  I  should  find  you  here,  Julius,"  she 
said,  calling  him  by  his  Christian  name  without 
the  smallest  hesitation.  "  I  wanted  to  speak  to 
you  alone." 

"  You  have  the  faculty  of  finding  me,"  said  Ju 
lius  with  a  short,  low  laugh. 

"Since  when  is  it  so  disagreeable  to  you?" 
asked  Diana. 

Julius  was  silent,  for  there  was  nothing  he  could 


200  TO  LEEWARD. 

say.  He  wished  he  had  said  nothing  at  first, —it 
would  have  been  much  better.  Diana  continued : 

"You  and  I  know  each  other  well  enough  to 
talk  freely,"  she  said.  "  We  need  not  beat  about 
the  bush  and  say  pretty  things  to  each  other,  and 
I  forgive  you  for  being  rude,  because  I  know  you 
very  well,  and  am  willing  to  sacrifice  something. 
But  I  will  not  forgive  you  again  if  you  are  rude  in 
public.  There  are  certain  things  one  does  not  per 
mit  one's  self,  when  one  is  a  gentleman." 

"  You  are  very  good,  Diana,"  said  Batiscombe, 
humbly.  "  I  am  very  sorry.  I  lost  my  temper." 

"Naturally,"  she  answered  coolly.  "You  al 
ways  lose  your  temper,  —  you  always  did,  —  and 
yet  you  fancy  continually  that  you  hide  it.  Passe  ! 
I  have  forgiven  you  for  this  time,  because  I  am  the 
best  friend  you  have." 

"  The  only  one,"  said  Julius. 

"  Perhaps.  You  are  well  hated,  I  can  tell  you. 
Then  treat  me  as  a  friend  in  future,  if  you  please, 
and  not  as  an  inquisitive  acquaintance  who  makes 
a  point  of  annoying  you  for  her  own  ends."  She 
spoke  calmly,  in  a  quiet,  determined  voice,  without 
the  slightest  hesitation  or  affectation.  Julius  bent 
his  head. 

"  I  always  mean  to,"  he  said. 

"  Now  listen  to  me,"  she  continued.  "  I  came 
upon  you  this  afternoon  by  pure  accident.  I  do 
not  owe  you  any  apology  for  that,  and  you  know 
very  well  that  I  am  the  last  person  in  the  world  to 
do  things  in  that  way,  by  stealth.  That  is  the  rea- 


.       TO  LEEWARD.  201 

son  I  come  to  you  here,  at  night,  to  tell  you  iny 
mind  frankly." 

"  Yes,"  said  Batiscombe,  in  a  muffled  voice,  "  I 
know." 

"  I  came  upon  you  by  accident,"  said  she,  "  and 
I  made  a  discovery.  You  pass  your  afternoons  in 
the  society  of  my  sister-in-law,  and  you  lose  your 
temper  with  me  when  I  find  you  together,  — 
though  you  always  wish  me  to  understand  that 
you  prefer  my  society  to  that  of  any  woman  in 
the  world." 

"  Ah  —  how  you  express  it !  "  exclaimed  Julius. 

"  I  express  it  as  plainly  as  I  can.  I  cannot  help 
it  if  you  do  not  like  it.  It  is  all  true.  And  the 
inference  is  perfectly  clear.  Do  you  see  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Batiscombe. 

"  You  do  not  ?  Very  well,  I  will  draw  it  for 
you."  She  leaned  back  in  the  chair  and  looked  at 
him  ;  her  eyes  were  accustomed  by  this  time  to  the 
gloom,  and  she  could  see  him  quite  clearly  in  the 
starlight.  He  moved  uneasily,  and  then  fixed  his 
eyes  on  hers.  But  she  was  not  afraid  of  them  as 
Leonora  was,  though  he  was  near  to  her. 

"  Pray  go  on,'?  he  said. 

"  The  inference  is  this.  You  are  making  love  to 
Leonora  Carantoni." 

"  You  shall  not  say  that,"  said  Batiscombe,  be 
tween  his  teeth,  still  looking  fiercely  at  her. 

"  You  might  forbid  a  man  to  say  it,"  answered 
Diana,  in  low,  calm  tones.  "  And  for  anything 
I  care  you  may  forbid  any  other  woman  in  the 


202  TO  LEEWARD. 

world  to  say  it.  But  you  cannot  forbid  me.  I 
have  the  right." 

"In  that  case,"  said  Julius,  rising,  and  strug 
gling  to  speak  quietly,  "  there  is  nothing  I  can  do 
but  to  leave  you,  since  I  will  certainly  not  listen." 

But  Diana  rose  also,  and  laid  her  white  hand  on 
his  arm,  as  though  she  could  have  bowed  the  strong 
man  to  the  earth  if  she  chose.  She  seemed  taller 
than  he  in  the  power  and  determination  of  her 
gesture. 

"  Sit  down  instantly,"  she  said,  under  her  breath. 

Julius  obeyed  silently  and  sullenly.  Then  Diana 
resumed  her  seat. 

"  I  have  the  right,  Julius,"  she  continued,  "  not 
because  you  pretend  to  have  loved  me  for  ten  years, 
—  nor  because  I  once  thought  I  might  accept  your 
love,  —  nor  yet  because  I  am  sometimes  weak 
enough  to  like  you  still,  in  a  sisterly  way.  But  I 
have  the  right  because  you  are  making  love  to  my 
brother's  wife,  because  she  is  young  and  innocent, 
and  because  there  is  not  another  human  being  in 
the  world  to  stand  by  her,  or  to  give  her  any  pro 
tection  in  her  danger." 

"  If  you  think  that,  why  do  you  not  tell  your 
brother  so  ?  " 

"  Do  you  call  yourself  intelligent  ?  Do  you  call 
yourself  a  gentleman  ?  "  exclaimed  Diana  in  bitter 
scorn.  "  Would  you  have  me  destroy  the  peace  of 
my  brother  and  of  his  wife,  because  you  are  doing 
a  bad  action,  that  has  not  yet  borne  fruit  ?  Do 
you  think  I  am  afraid  of  you  ?  Of  you  ?  "  She 
repeated  the  word  almost  between  her  teeth. 


TO  LEEWARD.  203 

"  No,"  said  Batiscombe,  under  his  breath,  "  I  do 
not.  But  I  would  like  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"  I  will  answer,"  said  Diana. 

"  Why  did  you  tell  that  absurd  story  about  me 
this  afternoon  ?  Did  you  not  see  it  was  just  the 
very  worst  thing  you  could  possibly  do,  from  your 
own  point  ?  That  nothing  rouses  a  woman's  inter 
est  like  such  tales  ?  " 

"  I  promised  to  answer  your  question,"  said 
Diana,  coldly,  "  and  I  will.  I  told  the  story 
thoughtlessly,  because  I  am  a  woman,  and  admire 
such  things  quite  independently  of  the  person  who 
has  done  them.  Do  not  flatter  yourself  that  a 
woman  like  Leonora  Carantoni  will  fall  in  love 
with  you  because  you  are  brave.  But  I  dare  say  I 
did  wrong,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it.  You  have  quali 
ties  that  any  one  may  admire,  but  you  have  quali 
ties  that  I  despise." 

"  I  despise  them  myself,  sometimes,"  said  Julius, 
almost  to  himself. 

"  Despise  them  always,  —  at  least,  and  be  con 
sistent,"  answered  Diana.  "  But  you  will  not. 
You  like  them,  those  bad  qualities,  and  when  you 
like  them,  they  make  a  miserable  wretch  of  you,  as 
they  do  now.  You  know  well  enough,  however 
cleverly  you  may  deceive  yourself,  that  you  ought 
not  to  be  here.  You  stay,  —  you  are  a  coward, 
besides  being  a  great  many  worse  things  which  I 
leave  you  to  understand." 

Batiscombe's  eyes  flashed  angrily  in  the  star 
light. 


204  TO   LEEWARD. 

"  You  are  cruel,  Diana,  and  unkind,"  he  said. 

Diana  was  silent  a  moment,  and  she  drew  her 
dark  lace  shawl  about  her,  as  though  she  were  cold. 
When  she  spoke,  her  voice  was  infinitely  soft  and 
gentle. 

"  Do  not  say  that,  Julius.  Do  not  say  I  am  ever 
cruel  to  you,  —  for  to  you,  of  all  people  in  the 
world,  I  would  be  most  kind." 

Julius  bent  down  and  pressed  his  hands  to  his 
temples,  and  sighed  heavily. 

*"Oh,  Diana,"  he  groaned,  "I  know  it,  I  know 
it." 

"  Then  I  will  not  say  any  more.  Do  this  thing 
because  it  is  right,  —  not  because  I  ask  you  to. 
Have  I  ever  reproached  you  before,  when  you  have 
come  to  me  of  your  own  accord  and  told  me  your 
troubles  ?  What  right  have  I  to  reproach  you  ?  " 

Julius  was  silent.  He  knew  in  his  heart  that 
she  had  the  right,  because  he  still  loved  her  best. 
He  sat  immovable,  his  head  buried  in  his  hands. 
Diana  rose  and  stood  beside  him ;  she  lightly  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  allowing  it  to  linger 
kindly  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  turned  and 
moved  away. 

The  spell  was  broken,  and  Batiscombe  rose 
swiftly  and  followed  her.  There  was  a  light  in  the 
drawing-room  that  opened  upon  the  terrace,  which 
Batiscombe  had  not  noticed  before.  As  they  en 
tered  they  found  Marcantonio  with  a  candle,  over 
turning  books  and  papers  as  if  in  search  of  some 
thing.  He  looked  up  with  a  curious  expression  of 


TO  LEEWARD.  205 

surprise   in   his  face,   holding   the   candle   before 
him. 

"Ah!"  he  cried,  "  bon  soir,  my  friends.  You 
have  been  taking  a  little  air,  ri*  est-ce-pas  ?  I  im 
agined  that  you  were  all  asleep." 

Madame  de  Charleroi  smiled  serenely  at  her 
brother.  She  knew  it  was  an  accident,  and  that 
he  had  a  habit  of  forgetting  things  and  coming  to 
look  for  them.  She  said  it  had  been  hot  all  day, 
and  she  and  Monsieur  Batiscombe  had  been  enjoy 
ing  the  coolness  of  the  terrace.  Julius  bowed 
blandly  and  said  good-night.  But  he  suspected 
Marcantonio  of  having  come  to  watch  his  sister. 
They  passed  on,  and  Marcantonio  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  looking  after  them  as  they  went  out  into  the 
hall,  where  lights  were  still  burning.  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"Eh!"  he  exclaimed  aloud  to  himself,  in  Ital 
ian,  "  I  do  not  understand  anything  about  it  —  ma 
proprio  niente."'  And  he  continued  his  search  for 
the  missing  letter,  pondering  deeply. 

Batiscombe  spent  a  sleepless  night,  which  was 
very  unusual  with  him.  The  interview  with  Diana 
had  made  a  deep  impression  on  him  at  the  time. 
He  knew  that  whenever  she  was  at  hand  to  exert 
her  influence  he  would  succumb  to  it.  But  as  the 
night  wore  on,  the  strength  of  the  impression  di 
minished,  and  the  old  feeling  of  obstinate  defiance 
gradually  returned.  At  all  events,  he  thought,  he 
would  show  her  that  her  suspicions  were  empty, 
and  that  nothing  —  no  harm,  at  least  —  would 


206  TO  LEEWARD. 

come  of  Ms  intimacy  with  Leonora.  He  would  also 
be  sure  that  if  Diana  interrupted  another  tete-a-tete 
it  could  hardly  be  by  accident.  Such  accidents  did 
not  occur  every  day.  In  the  early  dawn  he  rose 
and  went  down  in  his  slippers  to  the  sea,  and  bathed 
in  the  cool  salt  water,  and  smoked  a  cigarette  on 
the  rocks,  and  another  in  the  archway  where  the 
scene  of  the  previous  afternoon  had  occurred.  Then 
he  went  up  to  the  house  and  walked  round  it,  and 
surveyed  the  various  angles,  and  terraces,  and  bal 
conies,  and  eccentricities  of  patchwork  architecture 
that  made  up  the  dwelling.  Suddenly  he  stopped 
as  though  an  idea  had  stnick  him. 

Houses  in  the  south  have  often  as  manv-  as  five 
or  six  broad  terraces,  of  various  sizes  and  at  vari 
ous  elevations,  built  from  time  to  time  to  suit  the 
taste  and  convenience  of  the  owners.  The  strono- 

o 

brown  vines  grow  up  leafless  from  the  ground  till 
they  reach  the  trellis,  and  then  spread  out  into  lux 
uriant  foliage  and  a  multiplicity  of  rich  fruit-bear 
ing  branches,  making  a  thick  shade,  into  which 
even  the  noonday  sun  finds  it  hard  to  penetrate. 
Julius  had  just  observed  that  there  was  a  large  ter 
race  of  this  kind  which  he  had  not  yet  noticed,  hav 
ing  been  but  a  very  few  days  at  liberty  to  wander 
alone  about  the  place.  It  was  as  high  as  the  first 
floor,  and  on  the  side  toward  Castellamare,  facing 
the  sea.  He  had  been  in  Marcantonio's  room,  and 
knew  that  it  did  not  open  upon  this  terrace,  and 
Leonora's  apartment  was  on  the  other  side  of  the 
house.  Obviously  this  balcony  belonged  to  Ma- 


TO   LEEWARD.  9Q7 

dame  de  Charleroi's  rooms,  or  was  attached  to  some 
vacant  part  of  the  building.  It  struck  him  that  if 
it  were  vacant,  it  would  be  a  very  agreeable  spot  in 
which  to  pass  the  afternoon.  He  thought  he  would 
mention  it  to  Leonora  that  morning,  and  find  out 
if  it  were  available,  since  their  retreat  in  the  rocks 
had  been  invaded.  It  had  the  advantage  of  being 
large,  so  that  people  seated  upon  it  could  not  be 
seen  from  below,  and  the  thick  vines  would  prevent 
their  being  seen  from  above. 

He  spoke  to  the  marchesa  about  it  as  soon  as 
they  were  alone  for  a  moment  after  breakfast.  She 
went  quietly  and  surveyed  the  place,  ascertained 
that  it  corresponded  with  a  set  of  rooms  that  were 
not  in  use,  the  house  being  very  large  and  irregular, 
and  agreed  that  she  would  spend  the  afternoon 
there  with  Julius,  since  the  sun  would  then  be  on 
the  other  side.  There  were  long  window-doors 
opening  to  the  ground,  of  wjiich  the  blinds  were 
fastened,  and  only  the  middle  one  was  left  open  to 
give  access  to  the  terrace.  It  was  delightful,  be 
cause  it  was  in  the  house,  so  to  say,  and  open  to 
every  one,  and  yet  no  one  knew  of  it.  Why  should 
they  not  sit  there  ?  It  was  much  better  than  going 
and  hiding  in  the  rocks  with  an  air  of  secrecy,  in 
order  to  be  annoyed  by  that  terrible  Diana  !  Much 
better!  Though,  after  all,  they  need  not  have 
troubled  themselves,  for  Diana  went  out  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  carriage  to  pay  a  visit. 

Accordingly,  Leonora  and  Julius  passed  a  very 
pleasant  afternoon  together,  and  when  it  was  late 


208  TO  LEEWARD. 

they  found  Marcantonio,  and  made  him  go  out  in 
the  boat  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  everything  was 
very  agreeable.  Marcantonio  was  greatly  relieved 
at  finding  that  his  sister  was  away  from  Batis- 
combe,  and  he  talked  his  best,  and  really  made 
Leonora  take  an  interest  in  his  conversation.  She 
could  always  find  him  better  company  when  she 
had  been  with  Julius  for  some  time  and  had  said 
all  the  things  she  wanted  to  say,  and  which  Marc 
antonio  would  not  have  understood. 

The  next  day  Marcantonio  was  obliged  to  go  to 
Naples  on  very  urgent  business.  An  ex-royalty 
who  sympathized  with  Carantoni's  party,  and  was 
now  in  exile,  had  come  to  Naples  for  a  day  or 
two  incognito  —  quite  as  though  he  had  never  been 
a  royalty  at  all,  and  Marcantonio  felt  it  his  duty 
to  go  and  salute  the  august  personage  according 
to  ancient  custom.  He  therefore  left  the  house  at 
an  early  hour,  to  return  at  dusk.  He  thought  his 
sister  and  his  wife  could  chaperone  each  other  for 
a  day  without  danger.  But  he  said  to  himself  that 
if  he  had  found  Diana  alone  with  Batiscombe  again 
he  would  not  have  gone. 

The  morning  parsed  away  as  usual.  Batiscombe, 
relying  on  the  afternoon  for  his  hours  with  Leo 
nora,  only  stayed  down-stairs  till  she  was  joined 
by  Diana,  and  then  retired  to  his  room,  where  he 
wrote  or  read  in  solitude,  as  the  fancy  took  him. 
The  three  breakfasted  together  at  one  o'clock  ;  then 
Madame  de  Charleroi  retired  to  her  rooms,  and  in 
the  course  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Leonora  and 


TO  LEEWARD.  209 

Julius  were  installed  for  the  afternoon  in  their 
newly-found  situation  on  the  disused  terrace. 

Diana's  boudoir  was  a  corner  room  in  the  front 
of  the  house,  facing  the  sea,  and  opening,  by  one 
window,  on  a  narrow  stone  balcony  running  the 
whole  length  of  the  building  ;  the  other  window 
was  on  the  right  side,  and  if  she  could  ha^e  undone 
the  blinds  she  would  have  seen  that  it  opened  upon 
the  large  terrace  already  mentioned.  But  the 
aforesaid  blinds  had  resisted  her  efforts,  and,  as 
she  supposed  that  they  were  closed  for  some  pur 
pose,  she  said  nothing  about  it,  merely  opening  the 
glass  to  admit  the  air.  Leonora,  who  did  not 
know  the  house  thoroughly,  and  had  a  habit  of  leav 
ing  everything  to  the  servants,  was  not  aware  of 
this,  and  did  not  realize  the  exact  position  of 
Diana's  sitting-room.  Batiscombe,  of  course,  had 
taken  her  assurance  that  this  side  of  the  house  was 
uninhabited.  Accordingly,  it  came  to  pass  that 
when  he  and  Leonora  installed  themselves,  they 
took  up  their  position  immediately  outside  Diana's 
window,  under  the  shadow  of  the  wall. 

Madame  tie  Charleroi,  on  this  particular  day, 
did  not  go  into  her  boudoir  at  once,  but  spent  some 
time  in  her  bedroom.  When  she  was  ready  to 
begin  writing,  she  passed  through  the  door  and  sat 
at  her  desk.  She  at  once  heard  the  sound  of  voices 
outside,  but  she  did  not  listen,  nor  stop  to  think 
who  the  talkers  might  be. 

Presently,  however,  the  continued  sound  annoyed 
her,  forced  its  way  through  the  blinds,  and  pre- 
14 


210  TO  LEEWARD. 

vented  her  from  writing.  They  were  speaking  Eng 
lish.  She  understood  the  language/  being  a  cul 
tivated  woman  of  the  world,  and  the  wife  of  a 
diplomatist,  though  she  avoided  speaking  it. 

The  strong,  earnest  voice  of  Julius  Batiscombe, 
—  the  pleading,  protesting,  yet  yielding  tones  of 
Leonora^always  dominated  by  the  passionate  elo 
quence  of  the  man,  and  ever  answering  more 
weakly,  —all  this  she  heard,  and  she  sat  stony  and 
wild-eyed  with  horror,  realizing  in  a  moment  the 
whole  hideous  proportions  of  the  phrases. 

Diana  de  Charleroi  was  the  noblest  and  most 
honorable  of  women.  Under  other  circumstances, 
if  the  voices  had  been  those  of  strangers  or  in 
different  people,  she  would  not  have  hesitated  an 
instant,  but  would  have  given  some  unmistakable 
sign  of  her  presence.  But  this  thing  was  too  near 
her,  it  was  a  too  horrible  realization  of  what  she 
had  dimly  foreseen  as  possible,  when  she  had  spoken 
such  strong  words  two  nights  before. 

It  was  too  utterly  and  unspeakably  awful.  Her 
brother's  wife,  —not  three  months  married,  — and 
Julius  Batiscombe,  the  man  who  had  for  ten  years 
loved  herself,  —  or  had  made  her  believe  it, — 
whom  she  herself  had  once  loved,  and  had  never 
forgotten  ! 

But  Diana  was  no  weak  woman,  to  give  way  to 
trouble  or  danger  in  the  face  of  it.  For  a  few 
minutes  she  bowed  her  head  in  her  hands,  trem 
bling  from  head  to  foot,  and  no  longer  hearing  the 
quickly  spoken  words  outside.  Then  she  rose  to 


TO  LEEWARD.  211 

her  feet,   and  made   one  step   toward   the  closed 
blinds. 

No,  she  would  not  put  them  to  open  shame.  Yet 
something  must  be  done  at  once.  With  one  turn 
of  her  strong  white  fingers  she  overturned  the 
heavy  olive-wood  writing  table  upon  the  smooth  tile 
floor  with  a  crash  that  sounded  through  the  house. 
In  the  silence  that  followed,  she  heard  a  moving  of 
chairs  outside,  and  the  quick  tread  of  departing 
feet.  Then  she  went  swiftly  to  her  room,  heedless 
of  the  streaming  ink  upon  the  floor,  that  stained 
her  long  white  gown,  and  trampling  the  litter  of 
pens  and  paper  under  foot.  She  threw  herself 
upon  her  bed  and  lay  quite  still,  white  as  death, 
and  staring  at  the  ceiling. 

All !  the  disgrace  to  her  brother's  name,  —  to 
her  own,  —  came  suddenly  upon  her,  like  a  night 
mare,  a  thing  that  no  waking  could  cast  off.  All ! 
the  utter  baseness  and  unfaithfulness  of  her  old 
lover  was  before  her,  making  her  scorn  and  loathe 
herself  for  ever  having  loved  such  a  man,  even  in 
the  foolish  haste  of  a  romantic  girlhood.  Her  eyes 
strained  wildly,  striving  to  shed  tears,  and  could 
not,  and  the  whole  possible  pain  of  human  agony, 
passing  the  very  pains  of  hell,  got  hold  upon  her 
soul. 

That  night,  at  dinner,  Leonora  looked  desper 
ately  ill.  Her  face  was  white,  save  for  a  small  red 
flush  upon  each  cheek,  and  her  eyes  had  a  strange, 
furtive  look  about  them,  avoiding  all  meeting  with 
the  look  of  the  other  three  persons  at  table.  She 


TO  LEEWARD. 

said  she  had  been  in  the  sun,  had  got  a  bad  head- 
ache,^and  would  go  to  bed  immediately.  She  had 
only  insisted  on  being  at  dinner  in  order  to  greet 
her  husband  on  his  return  from  Naples,  —  but  when 
he  touched  her  she  shrank  away,  and  said  she  was 
nervous. 

Batiscombe  was  pale,  too,  beneath  his  tan,  and 
though  he  looked  every  one  in  the  face,  his  eyes 
were  disagreeable  to  see,  having  an  angry  glare  in 
them,  like  those  of  a  wild  beast  at  bay.  He  spoke 
little  and  drank  more  wine  than  usual,  after  the 
manner  of  Englishmen  when  they  are  unhappy. 

Diana  was  magnificent.  Being  often  pale  in  the 
summer,  no  one  saw  any  especial  change  in  her 
appearance,  and  she  threw  herself  nobly  into  the 
breach,  asking  all  manner  of  questions  of  her 
brother  concerning  his  trip,  and  showing  a  reason 
able  amount  of  sympathy  for  Leonora.  The  conse 
quence  was  that  Marcantonio  was  nearly  satisfied, 
in  spite  of  the  strong  impression  he  at  first  received 
that  something  unpleasant  had  occurred  in  his  ab 
sence.  But  when  he  had  an  idea  he  dwelt  upon  it, 
and  he  promised  himself  that  he  would  ask  many 
questions  of  his  sister  when  Leonora  had  p-one  to 
bed. 

^  He  accompanied  his  wife  to  her  apartment  when 
dinner  was  over,  with  a  solicitude  which  was  per 
fectly  genuine,  but  which  made  her  tremble  at 
every  turn.  His  careful  anxiety  lest  she  should 
over-tire  herself  upon  the  stairs,  lest  there  should 
be  a  draught  in  her  room,  or,  in  short,  lest  any- 


TO  LEEWARD.  213 

thing  should  be  omitted  which  could  conduce  to 
her  immediate  recovery  from  the  exposure  to  the 
sun  —  so  dangerous  in  the  south,  he  kept  repeating 
—  made  her  almost  certain  that  she  was  already 
suspected,  and  that  so  much  kindness  was  only  pre 
paratory  to  some  dreadful  outbreak  of  reproach. 

While  Marcantonio  was  gone,  Diana  led  Batis- 
combe  out  through  the  drawing-room  to  the  terrace. 
Neither  spoke  till  they  had  reached  the  end  away 
from  the  house,  where  they  had  sat  together  two 
nights  before. 

"  Julius  Batiscombe,"  said  Diana,  her  voice  trem 
bling  with  strongly  -  mastered  anger,  "you  will 
leave  this  house  immediately." 

"  Why,  if  you  please  ?  "  he  asked,  defiantly. 

"  You  know  very  well  why,"  she  answered,  turn 
ing  full  upon  him.  "  Do  not  ask  questions,  but 


& 
go." 


"  I  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  he,  folding 
his  arms  and  facing  her.  "  You  have  no  earthly 
reason  to  give,  save  your  own  caprice." 

"  I  heard  your  conversation  this  afternoon  out 
side  my  window.  It  was  I  who  made  the  noise  you 
heard,  to  warn  you  to  be  silent."  She  made  the 
statement  deliberately,  choking  down  her  anger, 
and  looking  him  in  the  eyes. 

"  I  heard  110  noise  —  I  was  not  outside  your 
window,"  answered  Julius,  telling  the  boldest  lie  of 
his  life,  and,  to  say  the  truth,  one  of  very  few,  for 
he  never  lied  to  save  himself,  with  all  his  faults. 
"I  was  not  outside  your  window,"  he  repeated, 


214  TO   LEEWARD. 

"  and  I  am  glad  I  was  not.  For,  by  your  own 
account,  you  heard  the  conversation  "first,  and  gave 
your  signal  afterwards." 

"Very  well,"  said  she.  "  I  will  not  shame  you 
by  repeating  the  words  I  involuntarily  heard  before 
I  frightened  you  away.  But  you  will  leave  this 
house  to-morrow  all  the  same.  You  will  also  con 
sider  yourself  in  future  as  having  no  title  to  cross 
my  threshold,  or  to  bow  to  me  in  the  street.'7  She 
turned  swiftly,  in  utter  scorn  and  disdain.  Batis 
combe  followed  her  to  the  door  and  into  the  draw 
ing-room,  where  Marcantonio  met  them,  precisely 
as  he  had  done  before.  It  was  too  much  for  his 
newly -roused  suspicions.  Something  had  gone 
wrong,  he  ^was  sure,  —  and  why  should  his  sister 
and  Batiscombe  be  everlastingly  alone  together  on 
that  terrace  at  night  ? 

"  Ah  !  "  he  exclaimed,  a  little  sarcastically,  "  you 
have  again  been  taking  a  little  air  ?  Eh  Uen,  oui  I 
the  evenings  are  very  agreeable.  If  you  will,  we 
can  sit  outside,  and  monsieur  and  I  will  smoke  a 
cigarette." 

It  was  dreary  enough,  sitting  together  for  an 
hour  and  more  in  the  dark.  Madame  de  Charleroi 
would  not  speak  to  Batiscombe,  and  he  confined 
himself  to  asking  questions  of  Marcantonio  and  to 
general  remarks.  Marcantonio  saw  this,  and  de 
cided  that  she  was  playing  indifference  in  public, 
because  she  saw  enough  of  Batiscombe  in  private. 
The  latter  did  not  force  the  position,  but  as  soon  as 
Donna  Diana  moved  to  go  in,  he  bade  them  both 


TO  LEEWARD.  215 

good-night,  and  went  to  his  room  and  to  his  reflec 
tions. 

There  was  a  long  silence  after  he  was  gone. 
Both  the  brother  and  sister  wanted  to  be  sure  that 
he  was  out  of  hearing.  Diana  spoke  first,  very 
gently  and  kindly. 

" Marcantonio,"  she  said,  "I  have  something 
very  important  to  say  to  you." 

She  threw  a  light  paper  shade  over  the  bright 
lamp,  and  sat  herself  down  beside  him  011  the  sofa. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

DURING  the  four  hours  that  elapsed  between 
Madame  de  Charleroi's  involuntary  cjiscovery  in  the 
afternoon  and  the  dinner  hour,  she  had  found  time 
to  collect  her  thoughts  and  to  form  a  plan  of  action. 
It  was  absolutely  necessary  to  do  something  at 
once,  and,  if  possible,  to  understand  afterwards  how 
Leonora  could  have  allowed  herself  in  so  short  a 
time  to  fall  a  victim  to  the  eloquence  and  per 
sonal  charms  of  Julius  Batiscombe.  She  wondered 
vaguely  how  it  were  all  possible,  but  in  the  mean 
time  she  knew  that  the  mischief  existed,  and  that 
she  must  do  her  utmost  to  avert  its  growth  and 
frightful  consequences,  since  she  alone  could  be  of 
use. 

Pier  first  impulse  had  been  to  go  to  the  window 
and  disclose  herself,  whereby  she  thought  she  could 
have  put  Batiscombe  to  flight  instantly.  He  could 
hardly  have  stayed  in  the  house  with  her  after  such 
a  scene  as  would  have  followed.  But  a  proud  in 
stinct  forbade  her  ;  she  would  not  have  it  appear 
that  she  could  possibly  stand  to  Julius  in  the  posi 
tion  of  Leonora's  rival.  Nor  could  she  have  found 
it  in  her  heart  to  inflict  on  her  sister-in-law  the  in 
delible  disgrace  of  an  exposure.  All  this  passed 
through  her  mind  in  a  moment,  and  checked  her 


TO  LEEWARD.  217 

first  step  towards  the  window.  She  frightened  the 
lovers  away  by  upsetting  her  table,  instead  of  com 
ing  upon  them  herself,  and  she  knew  an  hour  later 
that  she  had  thereby  lost  the  power  of  managing 
them  by  anything  she  could  say  to  Batiscombe. 
She  would  not  —  she  could  not  —  go  to  Leonora 
and  force  a  confession.  Besides,  what  good  would 
be  gained  ?  Leonora  was  a  person  to  be  protected, 
not  attacked.  As  for  Julius,  she  knew  perfectly 
well,  when  she  led  him  out  to  the  terrace  while 
Marcantonio  was  up-stairs,  that  he  would  deny 
everything.  He  could  do  nothing  else,  and  he  did 
it  boldly,  though  it  was  of  no  use.  But  Diana 
thought  it  possible  that  he  would  leave  the  house 
without  a  struggle,  and  abandon  the  position  for  a 
time. 

If  Julius  had  been  a  less  passionate  man,  and  a 
more  accomplished  villain,  if  he  had  loved  Leonora 
less  ardently  and  more  designingly,  or  if  he  had 
been  less  furiously  angry  against  Diana,  he  would 
have  acted  differently.  He  would  have  lied  just  as 
he  had  done,  but  blandly  and  with  a  great  show  of 
astonishment ;  he  would  have  made  a  low  bow,  an 
swering  Diana  that  he  was  at  all  times  ready  to 
obey  her,  and  he  would  have  left  the  house  in  the 
morning,  with  an  elaborate  excuse  to  his  hosts. 
But  Batiscombe  was  quite  another  sort  of  person. 
One  of  the  calmest  and  most  diplomatic  of  men 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  his  passion  when 
roused  was  wholly  uncontrollable.  He  was  madly 
in  love,  and  madly  angry,  and  he  would  have  cheer- 


218  TO  LEEWARD. 

fully  fought  the  whole  world  single-handed  for  the 
sake  of  his  love,  or  of  his  anger,  separately,  let 
alone  in  the  present  case,  when  both  were  roused  to 
the  fiercest  pitch. 

Diana  knew  him  well,  and,  after  the  few  words 
she  had  exchanged  with  him  on  the  terrace,  she 
knew  what  to  expect.  And  she  had  foreseen  the 
possibility  of  his  refusal  to  leave  the  villa,  and  was 
prepared  ^for  it.  The  only  question  of  difficulty 
was  to  direct  Marcantonio's  whole  anger  against 
Batiscombe,  and  to  shield  Leonora  as  far  as  pos 
sible ;  but  Marcantonio  must  be  told  of  the  dan 
ger,  since  Diana  alone  was  unable  to  avert  it. 

She  sat  beside  him  on  the  deep  sofa  in  the  draw 
ing-room,  and  she  laid  her  hand  affectionately  on 
his,  as  though  to  give  him  some  strength  to  bear 
what  was  in  store. 

"  It  is  very  important,"  she  said,  "  and  you  must 
be  very  patient.  You  must  give  me  your  word  that 
you  will  do  nothing  violent  for  at  least  a  day,  for 
you  will  be  very  angry."  She  knew  that,  with  all 
his  good  nature,  she  could  rely  on  his  courage.  He 
was  not  easily  frightened,  after  all.  He  looked 
earnestly  at  her,  and  his  face  was  drawn  into  a  look 
of  determination  that  sat  oddly  on  his  delicate  and 
rather  weak  features. 

"  Speak,  Diana  mia"  he  said  simply.  "  I  will 
do  what  I  can  for  you."  He  supposed,  of  course, 
that  something  had  occurred  between  herself  and 
Batiscombe. 

"  It  is  not  I,"  she  said,  "  it  is  you  who  are  con 
cerned." 


TO   LEEWARD.  219 

"  I  ?  "  repeated  her  brother,  in  some  astonish 
ment. 

"  Yes.  You  are  the  person  who  must  act  in  the 
matter.  You  must  write  a  little  note  to  Batis- 
combe,  and  tell  him  that  your  wife's  sudden  ill 
ness  "  — 

"  What  ?  But  it  is  only  a  little  sun  —  a  mere 
headache,"  interrupted  Marcantonio. 

t4*No  matter  ;  —  that  your  wife's  sudden  illness 
is  so  severe  that  you  must  beg  him  to  postpone  the 
remainder  of  his  visit  to  some  future  time." 

Marcantonio  looked  more  and  more  astonished. 

"  But  I  only  asked  him  for  a  week.  He  will  go 
of  his  own  accord  to-morrow  or  the  day  after.  I 
am  sorry,  Diana  mia,  but  you  said  you  did  not 
mind  meeting  him."  He  spoke  seriously,  with  a 
puzzled  expression  on  his  face. 

"  It  makes  no  difference,"  said  Diana.  "  He 
must  go  to-morrow  morning.  He  has  not  behaved 
honorably  to  you  since  he  has  been  in  the  house." 

Her  brother  looked  suddenly  very  grave,  and 
his  voice  dropped  as  he  spoke. 

"  Has  he  insulted  you,  Diana  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  in  low  tones,  "  he  has  insulted 
me.  But  he  has  done  worse,  he  has  insulted  your 
wife  in  my  hearing." 

Marcantonio  turned  suddenly  on  the  sofa,  and 
grasped  his  sister's  arm  like  a  vise.  His  face 
turned  a  ghastly  color,  and  his  voice  trembled  vio 
lently. 

"  Diana  —  are  you  telling  me  the  truth  ?  " 


220  TO  LEEWARD. 

Her  gray  eyes  turned  honestly  and  bravely  to 
him. 

"  You  and  I  never  learned  to  tell  lies,  Marcan- 
tonio.  It  is  true." 

She  knew  well  enough  that  he  would  never  sus 
pect  his  wife,  or  ask  a  question  that  could  lead  to 
such  a  conclusion.  When  she  said  that  Batiscombe 
had  insulted  Leonora,  she  spoke  the  absolute  truth. 
What  greater  insult  can  man  offer  an  honest  wo 
man  than  by  wittingly  forcing  upon  her  an  unlawful 
love? 

Marcantonio  looked  at  her  one  moment,  and 
then  sprang  to  his  feet.  At  that  instant  he  would 
have  killed  Julius  Batiscombe  with  his  hands,  as 
perhaps  Diana  herself  could  have  done.  She 
seized  his  hand  as  he  stood,  and  drew  him  toward 
her. 

"  No,"  she  said,  understanding  his  thought,  "  re 
member  your  promise.  You  must  do  nothing  now 
—  except  write  the  note." 

But  Carantoni  was  in  no  condition  to  write 
notes.  He  broke  away,  and  walked  wildly  up  and 
down  the  room,  wringing  his  hands  together,  and 
muttering  furious  ejaculations.  He  was  too  angry, 
too  much  surprised,  too  much  horrified  at  his  own 
stupidity  throughout  the  affair  to  be  able  to  think 
clearly.  Diana  sat  motionless  on  the  sofa,  as  angry, 
perhaps,  as  he,  in  her  own  way,  but  full  of  pity 
and  sympathy  for  him,  and  trying  to  devise  some 
means  of  helping  him.  She  leaned  forward,  rest 
ing  her  chin  on  her  hand,  and  her  eyes  followed 


TO  LEEWARD.  221 

him  anxiously  in  his  quick,  irregular  walk.  And 
as  she  looked  he  seemed  gradually  to  fall  under 
her  influence,  and  went  and  sat  in  a  deep  chair 
away  from  her,  and  buried  his  face. 

Then  Diana  rose,  and  went  to  the  table  in  the 
corner  and  arranged  the  light,  and  wrote,  herself, 
the  note  to  Batiscombe,  leaving  a  blank  at  the  foot 
for  a  signature.  She  looked  round,  and  saw  her 
brother  watching  her. 

"  Come,  dear  boy,"  she  said  kindly,  "  I  have 
written  the  note  for  you  ;  sign  it,  and  I  will  see 
that  he  gets  it  in  the  morning." 

Marcantonio  rose  and  came  to  her  with  uncertain 
steps.  He  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  a  moment. 
Then  he  fell  on  his  knees  beside  her,  and  pressed 
her  close  to  him,  silently.  Presently  he  rose,  she 
put  the  pen  between  his  fingers,  still  trembling  with 
his  anger,  and  he  signed  the  note  as  best  he  could. 
She  put  it  into  an  envelope,  sealed  it,  and  directed 
it  to  Julius  Batiscombe. 

"  He  will  be  out  of  the  house  before  we  are  up," 
she  said  in  a  tone  of  certainty.  "  Go  to  bed,  dear 
boy,  and  never  let  him  trouble  your  peace  again." 

"  But  I  will  trouble  his  peace,"  answered  Marc 
antonio,  bending  his  smooth  brows. 

"We  will  see  about  that  afterwards,"  said  Diana. 
"  If  you  think  best  to  fight  him,  I  will  not  oppose 
you ;  but  we  will  talk  about  it.  We  cannot  talk 
now.  Good-night  my  dear,  dear  brother." 

She  kissed  him  on  the  forehead  and  held  both 
his  hands  for  a  moment,  and  then  led  him  away. 


222  TO  LEEWARD. 

He  obeyed  mechanically,  and  they  parted  for  the 
uight. 

Diana  often  wished  her  brother  were  a  stronger 
man  in  the  ordinary  things  of  life,  but  she  knew 
that  he  was  honest,  and  no  coward  in  danger,  and 
that  he  always  spoke  the  truth  and  kept  his  word. 
It  was  his  fault  that  he  always  imagined  every  one 
to  be  as  honest  as  himself  until  the  contrary  was 
proved,  —  after  which  he  never  trusted  the  man 
again. 

Diana  went  slowly  to  her  room  and  locked  the 
door  behind  her.  With  a  candle  in  her  hand  she 
entered  the  boudoir  and  looked  round  upon  the 
scene  of  the  catastrophe.  The  glass  of  the  long 
window  was  still  open,  and  the  refractory  blinds 
still  closed,  the  bolts  rusted  in,  beyond  her  strength 
to  draw  them.  The  servants  had  raised  the  desk 
upright  and  washed  away  the  ink  from  the  tiles ; 
there  was  no  trace  of  disorder  visible.  She  could 
hardly  realize  that  in  this  neat  room,  that  very 
day,  only  a  few  hours  ago,  she  had  passed  through 
one  of  the  most  terrible  experiences  of  her  life. 

She  sat  down  in  the  chair  before  the  desk  and 
bent  her  queenly  head.  She  had  done  her  best  for 
the  right  through  that  day,  but  it  had  all  gone  by 
so  very  quickly  that  she  doubted  whether  she  had 
done  wisely.  It  seemed  as  though  the  burden  of 
it  all  rested  upon  her  —  of  the  right  and  of  the 
wrong ;  and  the  burden  was  very  heavy.  May  God 
in  his  mercy  give  strength  and  courage  to  all  brave 
women  doing  the  right ! 


TO  LEEWARD.  223 

I  think  that  ordinary  women  have  more  moral 
vanity  than  ordinary  men  ;  but  that  very  good  men 
have  more  of  it  than  very  good  women.  A  good 
man  always  seems  to  have  a  conviction  of  good 
ness,  to  be  quite  sure  when  he  has  done  right,  and 
to  enjoy  the  sense  of  having  done  it.  A  woman's 
sympathies  are  wider  and  reach  further  than  a 
man's.  When  she  has  done  her  best,  there  always 
is  something  more  that  she  would  do  if  she  could, 
and  until  that  is  done  also  she  can  never  feel  the 
comfortable  delight  in  godliness  experienced  by 
man,  the  grosser  creature,  who  hedges  his  possi 
bilities  more  closely,  and  gets  rid  of  his  superfluous 
aspirations  by  the  logical  demonstration  of  the  un 
attainable.  But  the  sphere  of  ordinary  women  is 
narrower,  and  their  sympathies  are  dispersed  in  a 
greater  multiplicity  and  divergence  of  small  chan 
nels,  so  that  a  little  goodness,  a  little  easy  charity 
with  a  pretty  name,  is  a  luscious  titbit  to  the 
tongue  that  speaketh  vanity. 

It  was  a  dreary  night  to  every  one  of  the  four, 

—  least  of  all  perhaps  to  Julius  Batiscombe,  whose 
fierce  temper  was  thoroughly  roused  and  would  not 
be  calmed  again  for  days,  giving  him  a  kind  of 
wicked  satisfaction  while  it  lasted.     He  spent  most 
of  the  night   at  his  window,  smoking  and  going 
over  the  scenes  of  the  day,  and  the  scenes  of  the 
future.     His  mind  ran  in  the  direction  of  fighting, 

—  to  fight  any  one  or  anything  would  be  a  rare 
satisfaction ;  and  ever  as  he  fancied  some  struggle 
possible  the  hot  blood  rushed  to  his  temples  and 


224  TO  LEEWARD. 

longed  for  action,  so  that  lie  bit  his  cigar  through 
and  through,  and  clasped  his  hands  together  till 
the  veins  stood  out  like  ropes.  He  slept  a  little  at 
last,  and  dreamed  savage  dreams  of  hand-to-hand 
combat,  and  woke  with  the  roar  of  cannon  in  his 
ears.  For  he  was  a  man  of  exaggerated  fancies 
when  his  brain  worked  unconsciously,  like  many 
men  who  have  ended  in  celebrity  or  in  insane  asy 
lums. 

The  roar  of  the  guns  was  only  a  servant  knock 
ing  at  his  door,  with  hot  water  and  a  note.  He 
saw  Diana's  handwriting,  and  suspected  a  new 
move,  so  that  he  was  not  altogether  astonished  by 
the  contents.  He  understood  that  she  had  made 
Marcantonio  sign  her  writing  —  by  what  means 
he  could  not  tell  —  in  order  to  force  the  position. 
There  was  evidently  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  go. 
He  would  not  have  left  the  villa  for  anything  Di 
ana  could  have  said,  in  his  present  humor,  but  it 
was  impossible  to  bid  defiance  to  the  master  of  the 
house.  Besides,  he  supposed  that  since  Carantoni 
had  invited  him  to  leave,  Diana  had  said  some 
thing  which  would  lead  to  a  challenge  from  her 
brother,  which  could  naturally  not  take  place  under 
his  own  roof. 

He  read  the  note  through  twice,  and  he  went 
through  his  toilet  with  his  usual  care,  looking  an 
grily  at  himself  in  the  glass  as  he  shaved,  but  grad 
ually  composing  his  features  to  an  appearance  of 
calmness.  Then  he  put  his  things  together,  rang 
the  bell,  told  the  servant  he  was  going  to  Sorrento 


TO  LEEWARD.  225 

on  business,  and  gave  him  a  very  handsome  fee,  re 
questing  him  to  bring  the  things  in  the  course  of 
the  day,  in  a  cab,  to  the  hotel.  As  Batiscombe 
was  always  very  liberal,  the  servant  smiled,  promised 
to  obey,  and  retired ;  after  which  Julius  took  his 
hat  and  stick,  and  strolled  out  of  the  house  toward 
the  town. 

Donna  Diana  and  Marcantonio  met  in  the  morn 
ing.  They  saluted  each  other  with  the  quiet,  mourn 
ful  understanding  of  people  who  have  a  common 
trouble,  which  they  know  must  be  spoken  of,  though 
they  desire  to  put  off  the  evil  moment.  They  were 
both  pale,  and  Diana's  eyes  were  shaded  by  great 
dark  rings  that  spoke  of  a  sleepless  night. 

"  Have  you  seen  Leonora  ?  How  is  she  ?  "  was 
her  first  question. 

"  Dio  miof  She  is  very  poorly.  Poverina! 
It  has  made  a  terrible  impression  on  her.  Of 
course  I  did  not  speak  of  the  subject." 

"  Of  course."  Diana  sighed  and  looked  drearily 
at  the  window,  as  though  she  wished  she  were  out 
side,  away,  and  beyond  this  trouble.  She  could  not 
know  what  Leonora  would  say  or  do  if  Marcantonio 
ever  broached  the  subject.  "  I  do  not  think,"  said 
she,  "  that  it  will  ever  be  necessary  to  say  anything 
about  it.  She  will  understand  that  you  sent  him 
out  of  the  house,  —  she  will  never  see  him  again." 

"  Is  he  gone  ?  "  asked  Marcantonio. 

«  Yes  —  early  this  morning.    I  sent  to  find  out." 

"Then  there  need  be  no  time  lost,"  said  her 
brother.  "  I  have  just  written  a  note  to  Monsieur  de 

15 


226  TO  LEEWARD. 

Tierce,  at  Castellamare.  It  is  much  better  to  have  a 
Frenchman  in  dealing  with  foreigners.  He  will  be 
here  by  one  o'clock,  and  will  arrange  everything." 

Diana  had  expected  that  Marcantonio  would  s^end 
for  a  friend  to  arrange  matters  with  Batiscombe. 
She  did  not  look  surprised. 

"  Have  you  sent  the  man  yet?  "  she  asked. 
"  He  is  getting  a  horse,  I  suppose.     I  have  not 
heard  him  go." 

"Tell  him  to  wait  five  minutes.  This  is  a  serious 
affair,  and  we  had  better  act  deliberately." 

Diana  intended  to  prevent  the  duel  if  possible. 
Marcantonio  was  willing  to  humor  her,  and  went 
out  to  stop  the  man.  When  he  came  back,  she 
made  him  sit  down  beside  her. 

She  explained  to  him  the  situation  very  clearly. 
Batiscombe  had  insulted  Leonora,  had  done  him  a 
mortal  offence.     But  Batiscombe  was  not  the  im 
portant  person  in  the  case.     Leonora  was  the  im 
portant  person.     If  matters  had  been  different,  if, 
for  instance,  a  man  had  run  away  with  another 
man's  wife,  then,  of  course,  they  must  necessarily 
fight,  —  and  the  woman  made  no  difference,  since 
her  reputation  would  be  already  destroyed.     But  it 
would  be  a  terrible  injury  to  a  young  wife  to  have 
her  husband  fighting  a  duel  about  her  before  they 
had   been  married  three  months.     People  always 
say  there  is  not  much  smoke  without  a  little  fire ; 
society,  being  generally  averse  to  standing  up  to  be 
shot  at,  says  that  a  man  in  Marcantonio's  position 
would  not  go  out  unless  he  had  very  serious  cause. 


TO  LEEWARD.  227 

Of  course  it  would  say  in  this  case  that  the  cause 
lay  with  Leonora,  that  she  should  never  have  al 
lowed  a  man  enough  intimacy  to  give  him  a  chance 
of  insulting  her,  and  so  forth,  and  so  on. 

Diana  would  not  use  the  argument  of  the  Church's 
prohibition  of  duelling.  She  knew  that  Leonora's 
welfare  was  the  chiefest  thing  present  in  her  broth 
er's  mind,  and  that  if  she  could  show  him  that,  for 
Leonora's  sake,  he  ought  to  leave  Batiscombe  alone, 
he  would  assuredly  conquer  his  anger  and  his  pride. 
He  had  no  sanguine  and  combative  instincts,  like 
Julius ;  he  did  not  like  fighting  for  the  enjoyment 
of  it,  and  if  he  could  be  shown  that  his  anger  was 
unwise,  he  would  ultimately  get  the  better  of  it, 
now  that  the  first  sharp  moment  of  wrath  was  over. 
To  preserve  Leonora's  spotless  fame  was  a  much 
more  important  thing  than  to  punish  an  insolent 
foreigner  for  vainly  attempting  to  damage  it,  and 
thereby  calling  the  attention  of  the  world  to  the 
fact  that  her  reputation  was  capable  of  damage. 

It  was  a  hard  fight,  and  Diana's  patience  never 
wearied  through  the  hours  they  talked  together. 
More  than  once  she  thought  it  was  lost,  and  that 
Marcantonio  would  order  the  note  to  be  despatched. 
Nothing  but  the  real  affection  and  trust  that  ex 
isted  between  her  and  her  brother  made  it  possible 
for  her  to  succeed.  But  at  last  he  was  convinced, 
and  silently  went  out  and  got  the  note  he  had  writ 
ten  to  Monsieur  de  Tierce,  and  tore  it  up  before  his 
sister.  The  die  was  cast,  and  he  did  not  mention 
the  subject  again,  but  went  to  see  his  wife.  At 


228  TO  LEEWARD. 

her  door  he  was  told  by  her  maid  that  Leonora  was 
asleep,  which  was  not  true.  But  he  asked  no  ques 
tions,  and  retired  to  his  own  room  to  solace  him 
self  as  he  might.  He  was  too  deeply  distressed  to 
wonder  why  Diana  did  not  go  to  Leonora  and  sit 
with  her. 

Leonora  had  hardly  spoken  to  any  one  since  she 
had  parted  with  Batiscombe  on  the  previous  even 
ing  before  dinner.  At  table,  as  has  been  seen,  she 
said  little,  and  no  one  had  seen  her  since  except  her 
husband,  who  had  gone  to  her  in  the  morning. 
After  his  visit  she  rang  for  her  maid  and  told  her 
to  see  that  no  one  disturbed  her,  as  she  was  going 
to  sleep  again  and  would  ring  when  she  wanted 
anything. 

At  the  moment  when  her  husband  was  told  she 
was  not  visible,  she  was  sitting  in  her  dressing-room, 
just  behind  the  closed  blinds  of  the  window,  listen 
ing  to  the  monotonous  dry  hum  of  the  locusts  in 
the  garden,  and  wondering  whether  anything  would 
ever  happen  again  in  the  world.     She  was  utterly 
dishevelled,  her  rich  hair  falling  to  her  shoulders 
and  halfway  to    the  ground   in   wildest  disorder; 
the  gay  colored    ribbons  of   her  peignoir    all  un 
tied  and   ruffled,    her  bare  feet  half   thrust  into 
her  gold-embroidered  slippers;  her  hands  lying  idly 
in  her  lap,  as  though  there  were  nothing  more  for 
them  to  do.     A  strange,  wild  figure,  sitting  there 
surrounded  by  all  the  gorgeous  little  properties  and 
knickknacks  of  a  great  lady's  toilet. 

Batiscombe  was  gone  I.      Her  husband  had  told 


TO  LEEWARD.  229 

her  that  he  had  been  requested  to  postpone  the  re 
mainder  of  his  visit  indefinitely.  Of  course  he  had 
gone,  then.  Marcantonio  had  supposed  she  would 
understand  and  be  well  satisfied.  But  she  had  only 
turned  and  hidden  her  face  in  the  pillow,  —  as  was 
perhaps  natural  to  a  very  young  woman  when  her 
husband  mentioned  anything  that  gave  her  a  sense 
of  shame.  She  must  have  been  very  much  hurt  by 
the  insult,  whatever  it  was,  and  she  could  not  bear 
to  hear  it  mentioned.  Marcantonio  had  not  told 
his  sister  of  this,  thinking  it  would  be  indelicate, 
and  was  nobody's  business  but  his  own  and  his 
wife's. 

Batiscombe  was  gone  —  when  would  she  see  him 
again?  Plow  could  he  reach  her,  or  she  him? 
What  would  life  be  like  without  him  ?  And  then 
the  dazed,  disappointed,  terrified  look  came  again 
to  her  face,  and  she  stared  at  nothing,  vacantly, 
and  like  a  woman  beside  herself. 

And  oh,  that  other  thought!  How  much  did 
Marcantonio  know  ?  It  was  Diana,  of  course,  who 
made  that  frightful  noise ;  she  could  hear  the  crash 
still  sounding  in  her  ears.  She  had  remembered 
too  late  that  one  corner  room,  cut  off  from  all  the 
others  opening  on  the  terrace,  and  communicating 
from  within  with  Diana's  bedroom  —  oh,  the  folly 
of  it!  If  only  Diana  were  to  come  to  her  —  she 
could  kill  her,  she  thought !  She  was  not  so  tall, 
perhaps,  but  she  was  much  stronger  —  she  was  sure 
she  could  kill  her  !  But  how  much  did  Marcantonio 
know?  Diana  was  so  truthful,  she  must  have  told  him 


230  TO  LEEWARD, 

all.     Those  hateful  people  who  always  speak  tho 

truth !   Ah,  if  only  Batiscombe  could  come  back or 

see  her  one  moment  before  he  went.  But  he  was 
gone  already.  If  he  could  have  seen  her  this  morn 
ing,  she  might  have  arranged  —  it  was  impossible 
yesterday  afternoon,  he  was  so  wild,  so  furiously, 
gloriously  angry.  It  did  her  good  to  think  of  his 
blazing  eyes,  and  strong,  set  teeth  just  showing  be 
tween  his  parted  lips.  He  was  such  a  man  among 
men  !  Never  again  —  never  —  never,  perhaps !  She 
would  be  shut  up  —  made  a  prisoner  —  Heaven 
only  knew  what  was  in  store  for  her!  Dreary, 
hopeless,  no  light,  no  life  —  no  anything. 

Hollow?  She  laughed  dismally  to  herself.  Yes, 
life  was  hollow  indeed,  now  —  empty  of  all  joy,  or 
peace,  or  rest,  forever  and  ever.  Pray?  How 
could  she  pray  ?  Prayer  was  an  innocent  amuse 
ment  for  desosuvrees  young  women,  with  imaginary 
sins  and  plenty  of  time.  But  now  —  bah  !  noth 
ing  was  further  from  her  thoughts.  What  could 
Heaven  do  for  her  ?  Heaven  would  certainly  not 

give  her  Batiscombe  again.     It  would  be  wrong 

ha  !  ha !  of  course  it  was  wrong  ;  but  what  was 
life  without  him?  What  had  all  her  life  been 
as  compared  with  the  happiness  of  the  last  fort 
night,  culminating  in  the  happiness  of  yesterday  ? 
It  might  be  wrong,  but  it  was  life  ;  and  all  before 
had  been  mere  existence  —  a  miserable,  vegetable, 
hopeless  existence. 

The  day  dragged  on ;  she  took  no  thought  of  the 
hours,  or  that  she  had  taken  neither  food  nor  drink 


TO  LEE  WARD.  231 

since  the  night  before.  And  always  the  maid  out 
side  the  door  said  she  was  asleep. 

At  five  o'clock  she  could  bear  it  no  longer,  but 
rang  the  bell  and  said  she  would  dress,  as  she  felt 
much  better.  The  maid  told  her  that  one  of  the 
men  had  returned  from  Sorrento  and  wished  to  see 
her  excellency,  as  he  had  executed  a  commission 
for  her. 

Leonora  stared  a  moment,  guessed  there  was 
something  behind  the  message,  and  ordered  the 
man  to  go  into  her  sitting-room,  whither  she  pres 
ently  went,  wrapped  in  a  voluminous  dressing- 
gown,  that  completely  hid  her  disarranged  peignoir. 
The  man  handed  her  a  small  parcel  and  waited. 
She  turned  her  back,  and,  opening  it,  found  a  lit 
tle  olive-wood  box,  and  inside  that  there  was  a  small 
note  with  no  address  or  name  on  it.  She  hastily 
closed  the  box  again,  and,  turning  carelessly,  so 
that  the  man  could  see  her,  she  examined  it  by  the 
window,  as  though  criticising  the  workmanship. 
She  nodded  to  the  man  to  go,  but  he  stood  looking 
at  her  with  a  queer  expression  that  frightened  her. 
She  understood  that  he  had  examined  the  parcel  on 
the  way,  probably ;  at  all  events,  that  he  must  be 
bribed.  She  quickly  opened  a  drawer  of  her  sec 
retary,  found  a  purse,  and  gave  the  fellow  a  gold 
piece.  He  grinned,  bowed  his  thanks,  and  retired. 
He  was  the  man  who  had  taken  Batiscombe's  things 
to  town  that  afternoon. 

Leonora  had  no  experience.  In  novels,  people 
always  bribed  the  servants  ;  it  was  most  likely  the 


232  TO  LEEWARD. 

proper  thing  — the  safe  thing  — to  do.  The  man 
would  not  have  gone  away  unless  she  had  given 
him  something,  she  thought. 

The  note  was  brief  to  terseness.  It  conveyed  in 
the  fewest  possible  words  the  information  that  the 
writer —  name  not  mentioned — intended  to  spend 
the  day,  in  future,  in  a  small  boat  with  green  oars 
—  underlined  with  a  very  black  stroke  —  in  the 
vicinity  of  a  certain  landing  known  to  both  the 
writer  and  the  receiver  of  the  note  —  name  of  lat 
ter  also  not  mentioned.  And  the  writer  added, 
laconically,  "  No  fee  to  bearer." 

She  ought  to  have  read  the  note  through  before 
paying  the  man.  But  what  could  she  have  done  ? 
He  had  stood  staring  at  her,  until  he  was  paid. 

Her  heart  gave  a  great  leap.    It  was  so  like  him, 
so  daring,  to  send  her  word  at  once.     At  least  she 
would  feel,  now,  that  he  was  always  there,  waiting 
for  her  — ready  to  help  her  at  a  moment's  notice. 
If  only   she   could   be  with  him  on  the  soft,  blue 
water,  out  in  the   sun  !     She   could  fight  now  — 
she  could  face  them  all  —  for  he  was  out  there ; 
at  least,  he  would  be  there  to-morrow.     She  went 
back  to  her  bedroom,   and  gave  herself  up  to  her 
maid,    and   had   strong   tea  and  bread-and-butter 
brought  to  her,    while  she  dressed;  and  an   hour 
later  she  sallied  out,  with  all  her  usual  elasticity  of 
step  and  motion,  and  all  the  marvellous  freshness 
of  face  that  distinguished  her  from  other  women. 
She  found  her  husband  and  Diana  together  on  the 
terrace. 


TO  LEEWARD.  233 

Marcantonio's  face  softened  and  flushed  with 
pleasure  as  he  saw  how  well  and  beautiful  she 
looked.  She,  at  least,  he  thought,  had  not  suffered 
long  by  all  this  trouble.  It  was  so  brave  of  her  to 
forget  it,  now  that  the  man  was  gone  ;  he  was  so 
glad  to  think  that  he  could  have  borne  the  brunt 
of  it,  and  had  saved  her  the  pain  of  any  discussion. 
But  he  said  little,  just  kissing  her  hand,  and  affec 
tionately  leading  her  to  a  comfortable  chair. 

Diana,  who  had  really  carried  the  heat  of  the 
battle  alone,  and  bore  the  burden  of  the  secret,  was 
very  quiet.  She  saw  a  little  look  of  hardness  in 
Leonora's  face  that  she  had  seen  long  before,  but 
rarely.  She  said  kindly  that  she  was  very  glad  to 
see  her  up  again,  and  hoped  she  was  entirely  re 
covered.  Marcantonio,  said  Diana,  had  been  very 
anxious. 

For  an  instant  the  two  women  faced  each  other, 
and  Leonora  thought  she  was  beginning  to  under 
stand  her  sister-in-law. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

FROM  morning  till  night,  under  the  broiling  sun 
of  August,  a  wretched-looking  boat  plied   slowly 
along  the  rocks  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Car- 
antoni  landing.     It  was  a  miserable  old  tub,  big 
enough  to  hold  three  or  four  people  at  the  most, 
and  the  solitary  individual  to  whom  it  seemed  to 
belong  propelled  it  slowly  about  with  a  pair  of  old 
green  oars.     Now  and  then  he  would  paddle  under 
the  shadow  of  the  cliffs  and  put  down  a  line,  ang 
ling  for  a  stray  mackerel  or  mullet,  and  sometimes 
catching  even  one  of  those  sharp-mined  red  fellows 
that  the  Neapolitan  fishermen  called  "  cardinals." 
He  did  not  seem  to  care  much  whether  he  caught 
anything  or  not,  but  he  apparently  loved  that  par 
ticular  part  of  the  coast,  for  he  was  never  seen  any 
where  else.     A  big,  shabby  man,  in  rough  clothes, 
and  a  half-grown,    blue-black   beard,  with    bright 

blue  eyes, — Julius  Batiscombe  as  a  fisherman, 

brown  as  a  berry,  and  growing  rough-fisted  from 
constant  handling  of  oars  and  lines  and  nets. 

No  one  took  any  notice  of  him  as  he  pottered 
about  in  his  tub.  The  watermen,  who  passed  and 
repassed,  knew  him  as  the  crazy  Englishman  who 
found  it  amusing  to  bake  himself  all  day  in  the 
sun  for  the  sake  of  catching  some  wretched  fish 


TO  LEEWARD.  235 

that  he  could  buy  in  the  market  for  half  the 
trouble.  What  did  they  care  ?  They  never  fished 
there  themselves,  because  there  were  no  fish, — a 
very  good  and  simple  reason,  —  and  if  a  foolish 
foreigner  chose  to  register  an  old  boat  at  the  little 
fishing  harbor  close  by,  and  pay  ten  francs  for  the 
privilege,  it  was  not  their  business.  Neapolitans 
and  their  congeners  do  not  care  much  for  anything 
foreigners  do,  unless  it  happens  to  bring  them 
money. 

And  in  the  evening  when  it  was  dark,  Julius 
paddled  away  to  Sorrento,  and,  meeting  his  own 
boat  on  the  way,  pulled  off  his  rough  clothes, 
jumped  into  the  water  for  a  swim,  and  dressed  him 
self  like  a  Christian  before  going  ashore.  Save 
that  he  was  growing  a  beard,  and  was  almost  black 
with  the  sun,  he  was  as  much  Julius  Batiscombe  as 
ever  when  he  was  on  land.  He  had  no  acquaint 
ances  in  the  hotel,  and  no  one  cared  or  asked  what 
he  did  with  himself  all  day  long. 

It  was  said  amongst  the  fishermen  that  he  had 
been  seen  once  or  twice  rowing  a  foreign  lady  about, 
and  they  laughed  at  the  idea  of  a  "  signore  "  earn 
ing  a  franc  by  ferrying  a  passenger,  just  like  one 
of  themselves  —  for,  of  course  he  was  paid  for  it ; 
it  amused  him,  because  he  was  crazy,  poveretto ! 
And  sometimes  he  was  heard  singing  outlandish 
songs  to  himself  in  the  heat  of  the  day  as  he  pad 
dled  about  under  the  cliffs. 

The  days  had  sped  quickly  since  Batiscombe  had 
left  the  Carantoni  villa,  and  it  was  now  the  first 


236  TO  LEEWARD. 

week  in  August.  Madame  de  Charleroi  had  stayed 
nearly  a  week  longer  than  she  had  intended,  but  at 
last  had  gone  back  to  Pegli,  to  Marcantonio's  great 
regret,  and  to  Leonora's  unspeakable  relief.  So 
long  as  Diana  was  in  the  house  Leonora  had  been 
obliged  to  steal,  few  anci  far  between,  the  occasions 
when  she  could  safely  go  down  to  the  rocks  and 
signal  to  the  shabby  man  with  the  green  oars  to 
come  and  take  her  off.  Many  and  long  and  hot 
were  the  days  when  he  rowed  his  poor  crazy  craft 
along  from  dawn  to  dark,  without  catching  a  sight 
of  the  strong  lithe  figure  that  he  loved.  But  come 
when  she  would,  at  morning,  noon,  or  night,  he  was 
always  there,  ready  to  take  her  and  to  slip  off  at  a 
quick  stroke  to  one  of  the  many  green  caves  that 
line  the  shore  ;  and  there,  for  an  hour  or  two,  or  as 
long  as  she  might  safely  stay,  they  sat  and  spent 
happy  moments  together,  the  happier  for  being 
few,  forbidden,  and  somewhat  dangerous. 

As  for  the  danger,  though,  there  was  not  much 
of  it.  It  would  have  been  hard,  indeed,  to  recog 
nize  in  the  ill-clad  boatman,  with  his  stubbly  beard, 
and  seedy  cap  of  brown  knitted  wool,  the  fine 
gentleman  whom  people  stopped  to  look  at  in  the 
street.  Leonora,  if  any  one  had  met  her  on  the 
landing,  would  have  said  she  had  taken  the  first 
passing  fisherman  to  row  her  about  among  the 
caves,  and  no  one  would  have  suspected  anything  ; 
and  she  used  to  laugh  as  she  watched  the  progress 
of  his  beard,  knowing  that  each  day  made  the  dis 
guise  more  complete. 


TO  LEEWARD.  287 

Her  own  boat  had  given  her  some  anxiety  at 
first,  but  she  had  made  Marcantonio  lend  the  whole 
equipage  to  a  friend  further  down  the  bay,  telling 
him  it  was  too  hot  to  be  on  the  water  at  present. 
And  when  Diana  was  at  last  gone,  she  had  most  of 
the  day  to  herself ;  for  Marcantonio  was  always 
busy  with  letters,  or  trying  horses,  or  going  to 
Naples.  He  always  found  his  wife  so  extremely 
charming  when  he  had  been  away  all  day,  or  shut 
up  in  his  rooms,  and  so  preternaturally  contradic 
tory  and  capricious  when  he  was  with  her  for  long 
together,  that  he  concluded  she  preferred  a  certain 
amount  of  solitude,  and  humored  her  accordingly. 
Never  hearing  of  Batiscombe,  he  supposed  he  had 
left  the  neighborhood  for  parts  unknown,  and 
though  he  regretted  not  having  had  an  opportunity 
of  shooting  him,  he  knew  in  his  heart  that  Diana's 
advice  had  been  good,  and  that  it  was  best  so. 
Now  and  then,  when  he  thought  of  Julius  too  long, 
he  would  grow  angry  and  pace  quickly  up  and 
down  his  room ;  but  on  the  whole  life  was  easy  and 
pleasant  enough,  and  his  beloved  Leonora  was  the 
most  charming  of  women,  not  half  so  capricious  as 
some  of  the  wives  of  his  friends. 

How  long  this  state  of  things  might  have  con 
tinued  it  is  impossible  to  say,  if  a  disturbing  ele 
ment  had  not  been  introduced.  But  the  disturbing 
element  is  seldom  far  to  seek  in  such  cases,  and  in 
due  time  it  came.  There  was  a  man  in  the  service 
of  the  Marchesa  Carantoni,  —  the  same  whom  Bat 
iscombe  had  employed  to  take  his  things  to  Sor- 


238  TO  LEEWARD. 

rento,  and  then  to  convey  the  note  to  Leonora,  — 
and  the  man's  name  was  Temistocle,  as  arrant  a 
knave  as  ever  opened  palm  for  bribe.  Carantoni 
had  taken  him  in  Rome  when  he  married,  because 
he  needed  another  man,  and  the  fellow's  face  was 
familiar  to  him.  He  had  seen  him  in  good  houses, 
and  had  noticed  his  extraordinary  adroitness  in 
waiting.  The  man's  character  was  not  altogether 
satisfactory.  He  had  received  no  recommendation 
from  his  last  place,  but  Marcantonio  took  him  .on 
trial  and  brought  him  to  Sorrento. 

Temistocle  had  exceedingly  sharp  eyes,  and 
Temistocle  had  an  exceedingly  smooth  tongue ;  he 
was  understood  among  the  servants  to  have  made 
economies,  and  his  tastes  were  somewhat  luxurious. 
He  found  Sorrento  hot  and  dull,  and  he  cast  about 
for  something  refreshing  and  amusing. 

To  take  sea-baths  had  always  been  his  chiefest 
ambition.  It  sounded  well  to  be  able  to  say  he 
had  taken  a  course  of  sea-bathing.  But  the  thing 
was  by  no  means  easy  at  Sorrento.  He  could  not 
bathe  from  his  master's  landing,  and  it  was  a  long 
distance  to  go  round  by  the  lanes  to  reach  another 
descent.  At  last,  however,  he  discovered  that  he 
could  climb  over  the  little  point  of  rocks  at  the 
foot  of  the  Carantoni  villa,  and  reach  a  small  cove, 
where,  in  complete  seclusion,  he  might  enjoy  him 
self  as  he  pleased.  Accordingly,  when  he  had  fin 
ished  serving  the  midday  breakfast  he  used  to 
make  a  practice  of  going  down  to  bathe.  In  his 
little  cove  he  hid  his  clothes  carefully  among  the 


TO  LEEWARD.  239 

rocks  and  crept  into  the  water  under  the  deep 
shadow  of  the  overhanging  cliff.  He  could  not 
swim  a  stroke,  but  he  could  sit  just  so  that  the 
water  came  up  to  his  chin,  and  his  round  black 
bullet  head  lay  on  the  surface  like  a  floating  foot 
ball,  scarcely  visible  to  any  one  passing  by  outside 
in  the  sun.  From  this  position  it  amused  Temis- 
tocle  to  watch  the  boats  and  the  fishermen  for  an 
hour  or  two,  enjoying  the  idea  that  they  never 
dreamed  of  his  presence. 

It  chanced  often,  as  he  sat  in  the  water,  that 
Julius,  in  his  outlandish  costume,  paddled  his  old 
boat  past  Temistocle's  retreat ;  and  the  sharp  eyes 
of  the  Roman  servant  were  not  long  in  discovering 
that  the  fisherman  was  no  fisherman  at  all.  It  was 
the  easier  to  recognize  Batiscombe,  as  the  man  saw 
him  when  his  beard  was  only  a  few  days  old. 
From  that  day  Temistocle  watched  his  opportunity 
to  descend  when  the  boat  with  the  green  oars  had 
just  passed,  and  would  be  out  of  the  way  for  some 
time. 

There  was  never  the  smallest  doubt  in  his  mind 
of  Batiscombe's  intention  in  thus  disguising  him 
self.  The  incident  of  the  parcel,  which  he  had 
carefully  opened  and  examined,  Batiscombe's  sud 
den  departure,  and  Leonora's  simultaneous  indis 
position,  all  combined  in  his  mind  into  one  harmo 
nious  whole,  from  which  he  proposed  to  himself  to 
extract  at  least  a  reasonable  amount  of  money. 

One  day  he  was  rewarded  for  his  pains.  The 
boat  passed  very  near  to  the  mouth  of  his  water- 


240  TO  LEEWARD. 

den,  skirting  the  rocks  at  a  great  pace.  He  just 
saw  that  Leonora  was  seated  in  the  stern,  and  he 
incontinently  ducked  his  black  head,  and  kept  un 
der  water  till  he  thought  he  must  have  drowned. 
When  at  last  he  was  obliged  from  sheer  suffocation 
to  bring  his  mouth  to  the  air,  they  were  gone,  and 
Temistocle  sprang  out  of  the  water  like  some  dark 
evil  genius  of  a  low  order,  waiting  for  Mr.  Darwin 
to  evolve  him  into  the  advanced  condition  of  com 
plete  devildom.  He  was  not  long  in  dressing,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  he  had  got  back  to  tho  landing, 
clambering  quickly  over  the  rocks,  and  hurting 
himself,  in  his  haste,  at  every  step. 

After  that,  he  became  more  irregular  in  his 
habits,  lurking  in  secret  places  till  he  saw  Leonora 
going  toward  the  descent  at  the  end  of  the  garden, 
and  presently  following  her  at  a  safe  distance.  He 
ascertained,  as  he  had  expected,  that  Batiscombe 
spent  his  whole  time  within  hail  of  the  landing,  in 
the  boat  with  the  green  oars,  and  that  Leonora 
went  down  and  signalled  to  him,  whenever  she  had 
a  chance.  Temistocle  was  so  delighted  with  the 
skill  of  the  arrangement  that  for  a  long  time  he 
could  not  prevail  upon  himself  to  interrupt  it,  even 
for  the  sake  of  the  bribe  that  must  inevitably  fol 
low.  But,  one  day,  he  needed  money,  and  he  did 
not  want  to  encroach  upon  his  purse  of  savings,  for 
he  was  a  miserly  wretch  as  well  as  a  knave.  He 
had  seen  something  pretty  in  the  way  of  a  gorgeous 
silk  cap,  that  a  stray  pedlar  had  brought  among 
other  things,  and  he  thought  he  would  enjoy  bar- 


TO  LEEWARD.      •  241 

gaining  for  it  the  next  time  the  pedlar  came  with 
his  wares.  He  knew  that  he  would  probably  bar 
gain  for  an  hour  and  then  not  buy  it  after  all,  — 
but  nevertheless  he  might  be  weak,  and  then  he 
would  like  to  feel  that  he  had  got  the  thing  out  of 
his  betters  by  his  own  skill,  instead  of  squandering 
money  from  his  hoard.  He  seldom  indulged  in 
the  luxury  of  buying  what  he  fancied,  but  when  he 
did  he  generally  made  some  one  else  pay  for  it. 
There  was  a  certain  refinement  of  miserliness  about 
him. 

At  first  he  imagined  that  it  would  be  best  to  drop 
some  hint  to  his  mistress,  just  enough  to  frighten 
her  into  paying  for  his  silence.  But  his  calmer  re 
flection  told  him  that  he  would  be  thereby  killing 
the  goose  that  laid  the  golden  eggs.  Batiscombe's 
ingenuity  would  make  some  change  in  the  arrange 
ments  and  he  would  have  to  begin  all  over  again. 
Evidently  the  best  thing  was  to  make  his  master 
pay,  and  let  the  lovers  go  quietly  on  their  course, 
so  that  he  could  at  any  time  produce  evidence  of 
his  veracity.  He  watched  his  opportunity.  Marc- 
antonio  often  inquired  whether  the  signora  were 
in  the  house,  or  were  gone  out.  If  she  was  out 
he  supposed  she  had  gone  into  the  garden  or  to 
pay  visits  ;  he  never  disturbed  her  arrangements, 
knowing  how  much  she  enjoyed  being  perfectly 
free,  and  feeling  sure  she  would  not  get  into  mis 
chief.  She  made  a  point  of  calling  on  everybody, 
telling  him  afterwards  where  she  had  been,  and  the 

two  or  three  hours  she  spent  with  Julius  escaped 
16 


242  TO  LEEWARD. 

notice  in  her  clever  account  of  the  spending  of  the 
day.  Now  and  then  she  would  say  slie  had  been 
down  to  the  rocks,  in  case  her  husband  should  ever 
take  it  into  his  head  to  go  and  find  her  there,  and 
she  was  quite  sure  that  by  this  time  Julius  was 
changed  beyond  recognition. 

Temistocle  had  not  long  to  wait.  One  day  in 
August,  Marcantonio  chanced  to  inquire  of  him 
where  the  marchesa  might  be.  Temistocle  was 
prepared ;  with  the  utmost  gravity  and  respect  he 
dealt  his  blow,  speaking  as  though  he  was  saying 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "that  her  excellency  is 
gone  out  in  tlie  boat  with  the  Signor  Batiscombe  ;  " 
he  pronounced  all  the  letters  of  the  name,  as  though 
it  had  been  Italian ;  but  it  was  unmistakable. 
Marcantonio  turned  upon  him  in  amazement. 

"  Animal !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  are  you  drunk?  " 

"I,  eccellenza?  "  cried  Temistocle  in  hurt  tones. 
"  I  drunk  ?  Heaven  forbid." 

"Then  you  are  crazy,"  remarked  Marcantonio, 
more  and  more  astonished.  "The  Signor  Batis 
combe  is  no  longer  here." 

"Pardon  me,  eccellenza,"  retorted  the  servant 
respectfully.  "  I  imagined  that  your  excellency 
knew.  The  Signor  Batiscombe  comes  every  da}7, 
and  takes  the  Signora  Marchesa  out  in  a  boat.  He 
is  become  a  very  strange  signer,  for  he  dresses  like 
a  fisherman,  and  has  let  his  beard  grow  as  long  as 
this  —  cosi,"  the  man  explained,  holding  his  hand 
a  few  inches  from  his  face.  "  Mi  maraviglio,  io  I  " 
he  exclaimed,  casting  his  eyes  to  the  ground. 


TO  LEEWARD.  243 

Marcantonio  was  speechless  with  amazement  and 
horror,  and  turned  his  back  on  the  servant.  A 
man  less  thoroughly  a  gentleman  in  every  sense 
would  have  fallen  upon  .Temistocle  and  beaten  him, 
then  and  there.  By  a  great  effort,  Marcantonio 
collected  himsolf,  and  turned  again. 

"  You  have  not  to  make  any  remarks  upon  the 
appearance  of  the  Signor  Batiscombe,"  he  said 
briefly.  "  Basta  !  "  Temistocle  had  nothing  left 
but  to  bow  and  leave  the  room.  He  did  not  under 
stand  his  master  in  the  least ;  he  was  just  like  a 
foreigner,  he  thought. 

But  Marcantonio  dropped  into  an  arm-chair,  the 
moment  he  was  alone,  as  though  all  the  strength 
and  life  were  suddenly  gone  from  him.  He  could 
not  in  the  least  realize  the  extent  of  the  revelation 
contained  in  Temistocle's  words.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  do,  in  the  least,  and  for  the  moment  it  did 
not  even  strike  him  that  there  was  anything  to  be 
done.  In  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  he  grew 
calmer  and  began  to  review  the  situation. 

He  remembered  distinctly  every  word  of  Diana's 
concerning  the  trouble  when  Batiscombe  was  in  the 
house.  Diana  had  said  very  distinctly  that  Julius 
had  insulted  Leonora  —  and  Diana  always  spoke 
the  truth.  Marcantonio  had  not  asked  her  what 
the  insult  had  been.  He  could  not  bring  himself 
to  do  it,  and  he  did  not  want  to  know  anything 
more.  He  would  have  cheerfully  fought  with  Bat 
iscombe  on  the  strength  of  his  sister's  assertion, 
but  she  had  persuaded  him  not  to,  and  now  he  was 
sorry  for  it. 


244  TO  LEEWARD. 

The  servant  had  spoken  with  an  air  of  convic 
tion,  as  though  he  thought  it  quite  natural,  and 
only  wondered  at  Batiscombe's  strange  appearance. 
There  could  not  be  any  doubt  about  it,  at  all. 

A  new  sensation  took  possession  of  Marcantonio 
—  an  utterly  new  passion,  which  he  did  not  recog 
nize  in  the  least  as  part  of  himself.  He  was  jeal 
ous.  He  did  not,  he  would  not,  understand  the 
truth,  but  he  would  prevent  his  wife  from  ever  see 
ing  Julius  Batiscombe  again,  and  then  he  would  go 
in  search  of  him  and  wreak  his  vengeance  without 
stint.  At  the  same  time  he  hoped  he  might  avoid 
a  scene  with  Leonora.  He  was  brave  enough  to 
fight  the  man,  but  lie  shrank  from  telling  his  wife 
what  he  knew.  It  seemed  so  brutal  and  uncourte- 
ous,  and  altogether  contrary  to  his  principles. 

But,  after  all,  he  ought  to  ascertain  whether  Te 
rn  istocle  were  right  —  whether  /  Julius  really  dis 
guised  himself.  He  would  go  and  see. 

No,  he  could  not  do  that !  He  could  not  play 
the  spy  upon  his  wife  —  it  was  low,  ignoble,  un 
worthy.  He  would  find  some  other  way.  His 
brain  swam  and  it  seemed  too  much  for  him.  He 
grasped  the  arm  of  the  chair  and  rose  to  his  feet  in 
pure  desperation,  feeling  that  he  must  get  out  of 
the  way  into  his  own  rooms  for  a  while,  lest  any 
one  should  see  him  in  his  present  state. 

In  the  hall  Marcantonio  paused  a  moment,  hold 
ing  his  hand  to  his  head,  as  though  it  hurt  him, 
and  as  he  waited  the  door  opened,  and  Leonora 
faced  him,  beaming  with  light,  and  life,  and  hap- 


TO  LEEWARD.  245 

piness.  Marcantonio  looked  at  her  one  instant, 
and  tried  to  speak ;  he  would  have  said  something 
courteous,  from  force  of  habit.  But  the  words 
choked  him,  and  losing  all  control  of  himself  he 
turned  and  fled  up  the  stairs,  leaving  his  wife 
staring  in  blank  amazement. 

Poor  fellow !  she  thought,  he  had  probably  got  a 
touch  of  the  sun.  She  hastened  to  her  room  and 
sent  to  inquire  if  the  signore  were  ill,  and  if  she 
might  come  to  him.  They  brought  back  word  that 
he  was  dressing,  and  that  nothing  was  the  matter. 
Then  Leonora  felt  a  cold  chill  descend  to  her  heart, 
the  dreadful  presentiment  of  a  real  terror,  not  far 
distant.  But  when  she  met  her  husband  in  the 
evening  at  dinner,  she  did  not  dare  to  refer  to  his 
strange  behavior  in  the  hall. 

During  dinner  he  talked  much  as  usual,  except 
that  he  did  not  laugh  at  all,  and  seemed  very  grave. 
There  was  a  preternatural  calm  about  him  that 
increased  Leonora's  fears.  She  knew  him  so  little 
that  she  could  not  be  sure  what  he  would  do, 
whether  anything  had  really  occurred,  or  whether 
he  was  subject  to  fits  of  insanity.  He  had  looked 
like  a  madman  in  the  afternoon. 

When  they  were  alone,  he  offered  her  his  arm, 
and  led  her  out  into  the  air,  and  they  sat  down 
side  by  side  in  deep  chairs.  Marcantonio  leisurely 
lighted  a  cigarette,  and  puffed  a  few  minutes  in 
silence. 

"Leonora,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  have,  heard  a 
curious  thing,  and  I  must  tell  you  immediately." 


246  TO  LEEWARD. 

His  voice  was  even  and  cold ;  his.  whole  manner 
was  different  from  anything  she  remembered  in  her 
experience  of  him;  he  was  more  imposing,  alto 
gether  more  of  a  man  and  stronger.  Leonora 
trembled  violently,  knowing  instinctively  that  he 
had  discovered  .something.  She  did  not  speak,  bnt 
let  him  continue. 

"  I  chanced  to  inquire  if  you  were  at  home  this 
afternoon,  and  the  man  said  he  supposed  you  were 
gone  out  in  the  boat  with  Mr.  Batiscombe,  as  you 
did  every  day.  Is  it  true  ?  The  man  who  told  me 
said  it  as  though  it  were  quite  natural,  as  though 
every  one  in  the  house  knew  it  except  myself." 

Leonora  was  dumb  for  a  moment.  The  whole 
thing  was  so  suddenly  thrown  on  her  that  she  was 
taken  off  her  guard,  besides  being  thoroughly  fright 
ened  at  her  husband's  terrible  calmness,  so  unlike 
himself  under  ordinary  circumstances.  She  lay  back 
in  her  low  chair  and  tried  to  collect  her  thoughts. 

"The  man  had  also  observed,"  continued  Marc- 
antonio,  turning  his  keen  dark  eyes  upon  her, 
"  that  Monsieur  Batiscombe  had  a  beard,  and  was 
dressed  like  a  fisherman.  En  effet,  it  was  ex 
tremely  curious." 

Marcantonio  and  his  sister  always  spoke  the 
truth.  Batiscombe  never  lied  in  his  life  to  save 
himself,  but  could  do  it  boldly  when  it  was  abso 
lutely  necessary  to  save  some  one  else.  He  had 
no  principle  about  it,  except  that  cowards  told  lies, 
and  men-  did  not,  —  that  was  the  way  he  put  it. 
He  was  not  afraid  of  anything  himself,  but  for  a 


TO  LEEWARD.  247 

woman  he  would  perjure  himself  by  all  the  oaths 
in  Christendom.  It  was  his  idea  of  chivalry  to 
women,  and  could  not  altogether  be  blamed.  But 
Leonora  by  a  long  apprenticeship  to  a  very  worldly 
mother,  and  owing  to  the  singular  confusion  of  her 
ideas,  had  acquired  a  moral  obliquity,  which  she 
defended  to  herself  on  the  ground  that  the  ultimate 
results  she  obtained  were  intended  to  be  good.  The 
telling  of  untruths,  she  argued,  was  in  itself  neither 
good  nor  bad  ;  it  was  the  consequences  that  must 
be  considered.  But  as  the  consequences  of  lies  are 
not  easily  cast  up  into  totals  of  good  and  bad  from 
the  starting  point,  it  sometimes  occurred  that  she 
got  herself  into  trouble.  However,  she  was  not 
hampered  by  prejudice,  and  she  was  a  very  clever 
woman,  much  cleverer  than  the  great  majority,  and 
she  was  just  now  in  a  very  hard  position.  In  a 
few  minutes  she  had  made  up  her  mind,  and  she 
answered  Marcantonio  fluently  enough. 

"  Why,"  said  she  calmly,  "  should  I  not  go  out 
with  Mr.  Batiscombe  when  I  please  ?  If  he  chooses 
to  dress  like  a  fisherman,  I  suppose  he  has  the 
right." 

Marcantonio  was  rather  taken  aback  at  her  sud 
den  confession.  He  had  expected  a  denial ;  but 
there  she  sat  as  calmly  as  possible,  telling  him  to 
his  face  that  it  was  all  true.  However,  he  was  not 
likely  to  lose  his  nerve  again  now  that  he  was  face 
to  face  with  the  difficulty. 

"  It  appears  to  me,  Leonora,"  he  said,  "  that 
when  I  have  turned  a  man  out  of  my  house  for  in 
sulting  you,  it  is  sufficient  reason  "  — 


248  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  For  insulting  me  ?  "  exclaimed  Leonora  in  well- 
feigned  astonishment.  "  Mr.  Batiscombe  never  in 
sulted  me  !  You  must  be  dreaming."  She  laughed 
a  small  dry  laugh.  But  Marcantonio  was  not  so 
easily  put  off. 

"  My  sister,"  said  he,  "  told  me  that  Batiscombe 
insulted  you  in  her  hearing.  I  have  always  known 
my  sister  to  speak  the  truth.  Perhaps  you  will 
explain." 

"  What  explanation  do  you  want  ?  You  sent 
Mr.  Batiscombe  out  of  the  house  on  the  pretence 
that  I  was  ill.  Of  course  Diana  made  you  do  it,  — 
I  do  not  know  how,  nor  what  she  said.  You  must 
talk  it  over  with  her.  She  was  probably  sick  of 
him,  and  wanted  him  out  of  the  way."  Leonora 
spoke  scornfully,  and  almost  brutally,  and  Marcan 
tonio' s  blood  began  to  grow  hot. 

"  That  is  absurd,"  he  said  instantly.  "  Perhaps 
Monsieur  Batiscombe  would  not  object  to  being 
confronted  with  me  for  five  minutes  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  he  would  not  object,"  said  Leonora, 
without  hesitation.  She  was  quite  certain  of  her 
lover's  courage,  at  all  events.  She  knew  he  would 
face  anybody. 

"Meanwhile,"  said  Marcantonio,  "you  will 
oblige  me  by  giving  up  your  harmless  habit  of  go 
ing  out  with  him  every  day.  I  would  have  sup 
posed  that  you  would  at  least  have  had  the  pride 
to  deny  it,  after  what  occurred  when  he  was  here." 
Marcantonio  was  angry,  but  he  reasoned  rightly. 

"  You  would  have  preferred  that  I  should  lie  to 


TO  LEEWARD.  249 

you,  mon  cher  ?  "  said  his  wife  disdainfully,  in  the 
full  virtue  of  having  told  half  the  truth  —  the  first 
half. 

"I  would  not  permit  myself  to  apply  such  a 
word  to  anything  you  say,"  answered  Marcantonio, 
with  cold  courtesy.  "  But  I  would  have  you  ob 
serve  that  you  are  mistaken  with  regard  to  my  sis 
ter,  and  that  if  she  told  me  she  heard  the  man  in 
sult  you,  he  did.  Perhaps  you  did  not  understand 
what  he  said.  It  is  the  same.  You  will  not  meet 
him  again  at  the  rocks  —  nor  anywhere  else." 

"  Pourquoi  done  ?  Why  shall  I  not  meet  him  ?  " 
she  inquired,  raising  her  eyebrows  in  disdain. 

"Because  I  forbid  you."  He  spoke  shortly,  as 
if  that  ended  the  matter. 

Leonora  shrugged  her  shoulders  a  little,  with  an 
expression  of  pity,  and  shifted  her  position,  so  as 
to  face  him. 

"  You  forbid  me,  do  you  ?  "  she  asked,  lowering 
her  voice. 

"  Jbfais  oui!  I  forbid  you  to  see  him  any 
where." 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  saying?  "  she  asked, 
and  there  was  a  tone  of  menace  in  her  words. 

"  Oh,  perfectly,"  answered  her  husband  calmly ; 
"and  I  will  also  take  care  that  you  obey  me  —  bien 
entendu!" 

"  Then  it  is  war  ? "  asked  Leonora,  as  though 
she  hoped  it  might  be,  and  to  the  knife. 

"  If  you  disobey,  it  is  war,"  said  Marcantonio, 
"  but  you  will  not." 


250  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"Because  I  will  prevent  you.  It  is  useless  to 
prolong  this  discussion." 

"  Mon  Dieu,  I  ask  nothing  better  than  to  finish 
it  as  soon  as  possible,"  said  Leonora. 

"  In  that  case,  good-night,"  replied  Marcantonio, 
rising. 

"  Good-night,"  answered  Leonora,  still  seated. 
"I  am  not  sleepy  yet.  You  are  not  afraid  that 
Monsieur  Batiscombe  will  be  announced  after  you 
are  gone  to  bed  ?  "  She  spoke  scornfully,  as  though 
trying  to  drive  a  wound  with  every  word.  She 
thought  she  knew  her  husband,  and  she  felt  tri 
umphant. 

Marcantonio  did  not  answer,  but  bowed  to  the 
ground  and  departed.  In  a  few  hours  his  whole 
character  had  developed,  and  he  was  a  very  differ 
ent  man  from  the  Marcantonio  of  that  morning. 
lie  had  passed  through  a  few  hours  of  a  desperate 
crisis,  and  had  come  out  of  it  with  an  immovable 
determination  to  clear  up  the  whole  affair,  and  to 
force  his  wife  to  break  off  her  intimacy  with  Batis 
combe.  Even  now  he  could  believe  no  evil,  —  only 
the  foolish  infatuation  of  a  young  woman  for  a  man 
who  had  the  romantic  faculty  strongly  developed. 
It  would  cost  an  effort  to  break  it  off,  —  and  Leo 
nora  would  be  very  much  annoyed,  of  course,  — 
but  it  must  be  done.  And  so  Marcantonio  had 
gone  about  it  in  the  boldest  and  simplest  way,  by 
attacking  her  directly.  He  congratulated  himself, 
for  at  one  stroke  he  had  ascertained  the  truth  of 


TO  LEEWARD.  251 

the  servant's  statement,  and  had  gone  through  the 
much  dreaded  scene  with  his  wife.  Henceforth 
she  knew  what  to  expect ;  he  had  declared  himself 
as  a  jealous  husband,  and  had  said  he  would  be 
obeyed.  He  went  to  bed  in  the  consciousness  that 
he  had  done  the  best  thing  possible  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  and  promising  himself  an  early  expla 
nation  with  Batiscombe. 

But  for  all  the  success  of  this  first  move,  he  was 
wretchedly  unhappy.  He  still  loved  Leonora,  as 
he  would  always  love  her,  whatever  she  did,  with 
all  his  might  and  main,  though  he  saw  well  enough 
that  she  did  not  love  him.  But  he  was  furiously 
jealous,  and  he  swore  by  all  the  saints  in  the  calen 
dar  that  she  should  never  love  any  one  else.  His 
jealousy  had  made  a  man  of  him. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IT  was  clear  that  after  what  had  passed  between 
Leonora  and  her  husband,  the  relations  must  assume 
the  aspect  diplomatically  described  as  "  strained," 
to  say  the  least  of  it.  The  two  met  many  times  in 
the  course  of  the  day,  and  never  referred  to  the 
subject  of  their  difference ;  but  Leonora  was  well 
aware  that  she  was  watched.  If  ever  she  sallied 
out  into  the  garden,  hoping  to  escape  observation, 
her  husband  was  at  hand,  offering  to  accompany 
her.  She  once  even  went  so  far  as  to  go  down  some 
distance  with  him  towards  the  rocks,  she  could  not 
tell  why,  —  perhaps  because  it  would  have  been  a 
comfort  to  her  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Julius  in  the 
boat.  But  he  was  probably  lurking  behind  the 
rocks,  just  out  of  sight,  and  she  could  not  see  him. 
She  knew  that  he  still  kept  his  watch  during  half 
the  day,  not  having  yet  invented  a  better  plan,  — 
for  she  was  in  correspondence  with  him,  —  and  in 
the  meanwhile,  until  new  arrangements  could  be 
made,  there  was  a  bare  chance  that  she  might 
escape  for  a  moment  in  the  morning  and  be  able  to 
see  him.  Her  husband  never  left  her  side  in  the 
afternoon. 

Temistocle,  the  knave,  had  failed  in  his  attempt 
to  gain  Marcantonio's  favor,  as  has  been  seen,  but 


TO  LEEWARD.  253 

he  now  reaped  a  golden  harvest  from  the  lovers, 
who  paid  him  handsomely  for  carrying  letters,  with 
a  reckless  feeling  that  if  he  betrayed  them  the 
deluge  might  come,  —  but  that  without  him  they 
were  utterly  cut  off  from  each  other.  He  had  at 
first  carefully  opened  one  or  two  letters  and  skil 
fully  closed  them  again,  but  had  desisted  on  find 
ing  that  they  were  written  in  English,  a  language 
he  unfortunately  did  not  understand.  It  was  now 
his  business  to  encourage  the  correspondence  to  the 
best  of  his  ability,  in  order  that  whenever  it  should 
be  convenient  to  spring  the  mine,  he  might  have 
some  letter  passing  through  his  hands,  which  he 
could  show  to  Marcantonio.  He  made  a  bargain 
with  an  old  man  who  had  a  little  donkey  cart,  to 
hang  about  the  lane  leading  to  the  villa  in  the 
afternoon  hours,  when  Temistocle,  being  free  from 
the  cares  of  the  pantry,  found  it  convenient  to  play 
postman.  As  the  distance  was  considerable,  and 
as  Batiscombe  always  gave  him  a  gold  piece  for  a 
letter,  and  Leonora  another,  he  thought  he  could 
afford  himself  ten  sous  a  day  for  the  hire  of  his 
primitive  cab,  without  any  reckless  extravagance. 

The  first  letter  he  had  carried  was  to  Batiscombe. 
Leonora  informed  him  briefly  of  the  scene  with  her 
husband,  and  begged  that  he  would  wait  as  usual 
for  a  few  days,  or  until  something  better  could  be 
devised.  But  he  waited  in  vain.  Then  he  wrote 
and  proposed  that  she  should  drive  somewhere  and 
meet  him.  But  she  answered  that  her  husband 
always  drove  with  her  when  she  went  out.  He 


254  TO  LEEWARD. 

proposed  to  get  into  the  garden  at  'night,  to  scale 
her  window,  —  anything.  But  Marcantonio  had 
bought  a  brace  of  abominable  English  terriers 
which  howled  as  though  they  had  swallowed  a  ban 
shee.  Marcantonio  also  kept  pistols,  and  slept  with 
his  windows  open. 

Meanwhile  Marcantonio  would  have  given  any 
thing  to  catch  Batiscombe  and  call  upon  him  for 
an  explanation,  —  but  he  was  afraid  to  leave  his 
wife  for  an  hour,  lest  she  should  have  an  opportu 
nity  of  going  down  to  the  sea.  He  could  never  be 
quite  certain  whether  Batiscombe  was  there  or  not, 
for  the  latter  had  grown  cautious  and  lay  very 
quietly  in  his  boat  just  out  of  sight,  knowing  that 
Leonora  would  call  if  she  wanted  him,  according  to 
the  agreement,  and  he  only  came  in  the  morning 
now  and  waited  till  twelve  o'clock,  in  order  to  be 
at  home  to  receive  her  letters  in  the  afternoon. 
Yet  Marcantonio  would  not  employ  a  spy  to  watch 
whether  Batiscombe  were  on  the  water.  He  could 
not  do  that  —  it  was  too  utterly  mean  and  bour 
geois. 

Leonora  grew  pale  and  thin.  She  was  as  thor 
oughly  in  love  with  Julius  as  a  woman  of  strong 
temper  and  impulse  can  be  with  the  first  man  she 
has  ever  cared  for.  She  dreamed  of  him,  thought 
of  him,  longed  for  him,  during  every  hour  of  the 
day  and  night.  He  was  to  her  the  realization  of 
the  strongest  fancy  of  her  life,  the  passionate,  ruth 
less,  all-daring  lover ;  and  the  consciousness  of  ut 
ter  wrong  that  underlay  her  feelings  only  lent  the 


TO  LEEWARD.  255 

strength  of  moral  desperation  to  her  passion.    Hav 
ing  lost  all  right  to  other  things,  she  had  that  left, 
and  only  that,  on  which  to  rely  for  all  the  happi 
ness  tlie  world  owed  her.     She  would  go  to  the  end 
of  it,  and  enjoy  it  all,  now  that  she  had  found  it ; 
and  then  —  then  she  would  die,  she  said  to  herself, 
and  no  one  should  suffer  by  her  fault.     But  she 
was  long  past  the  elementary  stage,  when  love  can 
be  put  upon  a  block  and  modelled  and  shaped  with 
tools,  or  pulled  to  pieces,  at  will,  being  as  yet  but 
a  fragile  clay  sketch  and  very  yielding.     The  clay 
had  been  done  into  marble,  and  the  marble  set  up 
in  the  inmost  sanctuary  of  the  temple,  —  and  if  the 
idol  were  broken  the  pieces  could  not  be  joined, 
and  the  temple  would  be  empty  and  bare  forever. 
It   had   come  about  very  quickly  —  but  what   of 
that?     Who  shall  say  that  passion  born  in  a  mo 
ment,  ready  armed,  is  not  so  strong  and  enduring 
as  that  which  is  evolved  like  man  from  a  pitiful 
thing  with  a  tail  —  a  mere  flirtation,  to  the  sem 
blance  of  humanity,  to  the  godlike  presence  of  true 
love? 

Or  who  will  tell  us  that  love  is  less  a  real  thing, 
because  it  is  evil  instead  of  being  good?  Bah! 
Devils  are  quite  as  real  as  angels,  as  I  have  no 
doubt  many  of  us  will  find  in  due  time.  Do  not 
underrate  the  strength  of  a  thing  because  it  is  bad, 
nor  doubt  its  reality  because  you  do  not  like  its 
looks. 

Leonora  was  in  love  with  all  her  might,  and  it 
makes  no  difference  in  the  effect  upon  the  individ- 


256  TO  LEEWARD. 

ual  whether  love  is  lawful  or  not,  so'  long  as  it  is 
thwarted  and  opposed  at  every  turn.  Her  charac 
ter,  from  being  vague  and  indistinct,  reaching  out 
after  many  things,  and  never  wholly  grasping  any, 
had  suddenly  become  definite  and  full  of  a  mature 
purpose  —  the  purpose  to  love  Julius  recklessly, 
without  consideration  or  question.  The  one  real 
thing  which  remained  possible  for  her  had  come, 
dominating  and  crushing  down  the  army  of  her 
most  favorite  unrealities.  The  man  she  loved  stood 
out  from  the  chaotic  darkness  of  the  past  and  from 
the  dreary  shadows  of  the  present  as  a  glorious 
figure  of  light,  magnificent  in  all  that  could  be 
noblest ;  and  she  gave  to  him  her  soul,  her  life,  and 
her  strength,  without  hesitation  and  without  fear. 
She  had  no  remorse,  no  pity  for  her  husband,  no 
present  consciousness  of  sin,  for  she  was  too  near 
the  wrong,  and  too  new  to  it,  not  to  enjoy  it. 

The  traditional  hardened  sinner,  the  very  mon 
strosity  and  arch  -  deformity  of  complicated  vice, 
held  up  by  preachers  as  a  bugbear  and  a  moral 
scarecrow  to  the  young,  the  creature  without  heart, 
conscience,  or  capacity  of  good,  does  not  enjoy  his 
wickedness  in  the  least.  It  has  lost  its  novelty  for 
him  and  its  sharp,  peppery  savor.  The  people  who 
really  enjoy  it  are  young ;  they  are  those  who  have 
tasted  little  of  life,  and  have  yet  all  the  sensibility 
and  refinement  of  palate  that  can  distinguish  be 
tween  one  sauce  and  another  —  between  green,  red, 
and  black  pepper.  They  have  dreamed  of  the  pep 
per,  have  never  been  allowed  to  have  it,  and  have 


TO  LEEWARD.  257 

been  fed  on  a  kind  of  moral  pap  that  disagreed 
with  them  from  childhood.  Suddenly  the  spice  is 
within  their  reach,  and  they  make  to  themselves  a 
glorious  feast  of  hot  things,  vaguely  hoping  that 
they  will  recover  from  the  indigestion  before  they 
are  found  out.  And  sometimes  they  do,  though  the 
recovery  is  very  painful  —  and  sometimes  they  do 
not. 

Leonora  had  subsisted  on  what  she  could  get 
in  the  way  of  enjoyment,  but  her  capacity  far  ex 
ceeded  the  supply  that  presented  itself.  She  was 
not  one  of  those  people  who  can  live  for  days  in 
happiness  from  one  sight  of  something  beautiful, 
from  a  glimpse  at  a  great  picture,  or  from  the  mem 
ory  of  one  strain  of  music.  She  liked  all  that  was 
artistic,  and  especially  that  which  was  admirable 
for  novelty,  fineness  of  execution,  or  boldness  of 
conception.  She  was  not  impressed  with  the  beauty 
of  small  and  unpretending  things,  —  the  art  that 
amused  her  was  necessarily  of  the  most  brilliant 
kind.  The  people  she  liked  were  the  stirring,  ac 
tive,  original  people  who  either  make  history  or 
make  public  fools  of  themselves,  or  both.  The  phi 
losophies  she  had  dabbled  in  were  such  as  could 
produce  in  her  a  sensation  of  odd  possibility  rather 
than  such  as  could  satisfy  a  logical  intellect,  and 
they  resolved  themselves  into  a  vast  sea  of  aspira 
tions,  emotions,  and  potential  passions,  in  which 
she  loved  to  disport  herself,  diving  and  splashing 
and  floating,  like  a  magnificent  sea-nymph  in  full 
est  enjoyment  of  her  wild  vitality,  —  sitting,  an 

17 


258  TO  LEEWARD. 

hour  after,  on  some  lonely  rock,  and 'wringing  her 
white  hands  to  heaven  in  despair,  because,  being 
but  half  divine,  she  was  less  goddess-like  than  the 
great  goddesses  of  Olympus. 

She  could  not  help  it  if  she  grew  pale  and  thin, 

—  she  was  so  wretched  without  him  ;  and,  without 
his  letters  and  the  sense  that  he  was  not  so  very 
far  from  her  after  all,  she  would  have  gone  mad. 
She  would  sit  for  hours  in  her  room    staring  at 
nothing  ;   or  she  would  go  through  elaborate  pro 
cesses  of  toilet  before  the  glass,  looking  at  herself 

and  wondering  if  he  would  find  her  changed, 

perhaps  that  very  day  some  chance  would  offer,  she 
might  see  him.     Everything  was   possible.     That 
was  the  color  he  liked  best,  and  that  bit  of  jewelry, 

—  put  it  on,  in  case  he  should  come.     And  again, 
she  would  change  it  all,  because  she  would  not  wear 
for  her  husband  the  things  she  wore  for  her  sweet 
lover  ;  and  then  she  would  change  once  more,  per 
haps,  and  put  back  the  colors  and  the  ornaments  he 
loved,  so  that  she  might  the  better  think  of  him 
while  she  was  with  Marcantonio  ;  she  had  a  thou 
sand  idle  thoughts    and   fancies  which  she  strove 
hard  to  train  into  the  semblance  of  a  little  happi 
ness,  the  hollo  west  image  of  a  little  joy. 

The  days  came  and  went  miserably  for  nearly  a 
fortnight.  In  all  that  time  Marcantonio  watched 
her  closely,  never  relaxing  in  his  vigilance.  She 
might  have  escaped,  perhaps,  but  she  would  have 
been  missed  in  half  an  hour,  and  she  had  not  the 
courage  to  do  anything  so  desperate,  —  the  time 


TO  LEEWARD.  259 

must  come,  she  thought,  when  things  would  change. 
But  meanwhile  she  grew  haggard  and  worn. 

Marcantonio  had  abandoned  the  idea  of  sending 
for  a  friend  to  deal  with  Batisconibe.  What  he 
had  to  say  could,  he  thought,  best  be  said  directly, 
and  there  would  then  be  no  difficulty  in  establish 
ing  a  pretext  for  fighting.  But  first  of  all  he  must 
keep  his  wife  out  of  danger.  Feeling  that  he  held 
her  entirely  at  his  mercy,  he  was  willing  to  take 
some  time  for  deliberation.  She  could  not  see 
Julius,  and  it  would  be  the  best  possible  test  to  as 
certain  how  she  bore  the  trial.  Marcantonio  had 
grown  hard  and  calculating  in  his  jealousy,  but 
he  ground  his  teeth  as  he  watched  her  and  saw 
that  she  was  falling  ill,  —  and  it  was  not  so  much 
for  sympathy  with  her,  as  for  anger  that  she  should 
so  love  another.  At  last  he  determined  upon  a 
new  course. 

"  Leonora,"  he  said  briefly,  one  day,  "  we  will 
leave  this  place  immediately,  since  it  does  not  suit 
you.  Will  you  be  so  amiable  as  to  give  orders  to 
have  your  things  packed  ?" 

Leonora  started  a  little,  and  looked  at  him.  It 
was  not  often  she  cared  to  look  at  him  now. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  go  ?  "  she  asked  at  last. 

"  Because,  as  I  said,  this  place  does  not  suit  yon. 
You  are  ill  —  miserable.  Ma  foi  !  do  you  think 
I  will  allow  you  to  stay  in  a  place  where  you  are 
always  pale  and  eat  nothing  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  ill,"  said  she,  "  and  I  have  a  very 
good  appetite.  I  do  not  want  to  go  away.  Be- 


260  TO  LEEWARD. 

sides,  you  have  taken  the  villa  for  tKe  whole  sum 
mer.  It  would  be  such  a  useless  waste  of  money 
to  move  again." 

"  Ah  !  you  become  economical.  It  is  very  well ; 
but  economy  does  not  enter  into  this  case  at  all. 
We  will  go  to  Cadenabbia,  or  to  any  place  in  the 
lakes,  where  it  is  far  cooler." 

"I  clo  not  mind  the  heat,"  said  Leonora,  "  as 
you  know.  Why  not  say  at  once  that  you  are 
tired  of  Sorrento,  and  want  to  go  away  to  please 
yourself?  It  would  be  much  simpler  and  more 
honest." 

"  Pardon  me,  ma  chere,  I  am  perfectly  well  here. 
I  could  spend  the  rest  of  my  life  at  Sorrento.  But 
you  are  not  well  —  whatever  the  cause  may  be  — 
and  there  is  a  possibility  that  you  may  be  better 
elsewhere.  Done  "  — 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  interrupted  Leonora,  "  if  you 
have  made  up  your  mind  I  must  submit.  If  you 
think  you  can  make  me  more  miserable  anywhere 
else  than  you  can  here,  I  must  let  you  try.  I 
hardly  think  you  can.  You  might  be  satisfied. 
Nevertheless,  let  us  go." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  make  you  miserable,  you  know 
perfectly.  I  wish  to  make  you  happy  and  free." 

"  Free  ?  "  repeated  Leonora.  "  En  verite,  you 
have  a  singular  fashion  of  making  me  free,  to 
watch  me  day  and  night,  as  though  I  intended  to 
run  away  with  your  silver.  Free,  indeed  !  Free 
from  what  ?  "  She  laughed,  scornfully  enough,  in 
his  face.  It  was  the  first  time  they  had  approached 


TO  LEEWARD.  261 

any  subject  of  this  kind  since  the  memorable  night 
after  Marcantonio's  discovery.  But  since  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  take  her  away  he  was  willing 
to  undergo  another  scene  if  it  were  absolutely  nec 
essary. 

"  To  make  you  free  from  the  society  of  Monsieur 
Batiscombe,"  answered  Marcantonio  boldly.  "  You 
will  never  be  well  until  you  are  absolutely  out  of 
his  reach,  and  if  I  must  go  to  the  end  of  the  world 
I  will  accomplish  that." 

"You  need  not  insult  me  in  words,"  said  Leo 
nora,  disdainfully.  u  You  have  done  it  quite 
enough  already  by  your  deeds." 

Marcantonio  was  silent  for  a  moment.  The 
speech  hurt  him,  for  he  knew  how  he  believed  in 
her  innocence,  and  how  it  was  his  jealousy  that 
now  prompted  most  of  his  actions.  His  voice 
changed  a  little  as  he  answered,  and  he  was  more 
like  his  old  self  than  he  had  been  for  days. 

"  Leonora,"  he  said,  "  I  would  not  insult  you  for 
anything.  But,  would  you  rather  I  were  not  a  lit 
tle  jealous,  since  I  really  love  you  ?  "  Perhaps  he 
spoke  foolishly  —  perhaps  he  hoped  to  soften  her 
heart :  at  all  events  he  spoke  seriously  enough,  and 
laid  his  hand  on  hers.  But  she  did  not  like  his 
touch  and  drew  her  fingers  away. 

"  A  little  jealous !  "  she  cried.  "  So  little  that 
I  am  kept  like  a  prisoner  and  watched  like  a  polit 
ical  suspect !  Be  jealous  —  yes  —  since  you  say 
you  love  me  ;  but  behave  like  a  sensible  creature. 
Moreover,  you  might  make  sure  that  you  had  some 


262  TO  LEEWARD. 

cause  for  jealousy  before  coupling  the*  name  of  the 
first  man  you  chance  to  dislike  with  mine.  Is  not 
that  an  insult?  " 

"  Certainly  it  is  —  and  if  I  did  that  you  would 
be  quite  right,"  said  he ;  "  but  things  are  a  little 
different.  You  do  not  understand  Batiscombe  —  I 
do.  You  have  taken  a  fancy  for  him  —  so  did  I. 
But  you  push  your  fancy  too  far.  I  now  under 
stand  him,  and  I  do  not  think  him  a  proper  friend 
for  you.  You  make  difficulties,  you  insist  upon  see 
ing  him.  I  forbid  you,  and  prevent  you.  You 
turn  pale  and  ill,  and  I  am  angry  that  you  should 
be  so  foolish.  Mon  Dieu  !  I  am  angry  —  voild" 

"  One  must  certainly  allow,"  said  Leonora,  with 
a  sneer,  "  that  you  have  a  singularly  delicate  way  of 
stating  your  own  case."  It  was  the  best  thing  she 
could  find  to  say,  though  she  knew  the  sarcasm  was 
not  merited,  and  that  it  was  quite  true.  He  wished 
once  for  all  to  put  the  matter  clearly  before  her, 
and  he  did  it  honestly  and  delicately,  since  he  de 
scribed  her  passion  as  a  "  fancy,"  her  strategy  and 
secret  meetings  as  "insisting  upon  seeing"  Mr. 
Batiscombe.  It  would  be  impossible  to  state  such 
a  case  more  delicately  if  it  was  to  be  stated  at  all. 
A  cleverer  man,  or  a  less  jealous  man  than  Marc- 
antoiiio  might  have  gone  about  it  less  directly ; 
and  that  is  all  that  can  be  said.  But  he  was  a  half- 
formed  character,  as  yet,  with  some  good  possibili 
ties  and  hardly  any  bad  ones.  He  was  naturally 
good,  but  good  as  yet  without  much  experience,  and 
his  teaching  in  the  troubles  of  life  had  come  upon 


TO  LEEWARD.  263 

him  very  suddenly.     It  had  never  struck  him  that 
it  could  be  difficult  to  manage  a  woman,  and  he  did 
not  like  the  idea  now  that  it  was  thrust  upon  him. 
The  woman  he  had  made  his  wife  would,  he  had 
supposed,  be  like  his  sister,  of  the  kind  that  manage 
themselves,  and  do  it  well;  and  if  he  had  antici 
pated  exercising  any  influence  over  Leonora,  it  was 
influence  of  a  very  different  sort  from  that  which 
he  was  now  driven  to  exert.    He  had  made  up  his 
mind,  however,  that  she  must  obey  him  now,  or 
that  he  would  perish  in  the  struggle,  and  a  cer 
tain  family  obstinacy  of  purpose,  inherited  from  his 
father  and  all  his  race,  suddenly  made  its  appear- 
ance  and  changed  him  from  an  easy-going,  pleas 
ant-spoken  young  fellow  into  a  very  determined 
man,  as  far  as  his  wife  was  concerned. 

He  had  said  she  should  go  at  once,  and  go  she 
should,  without  any  delay  whatsoever.  Instead  of 
answering  her  sarcastic  remark  about  his  ^indeli 
cacy,  he  went  obstinately  back  to  his  proposition. 

"Let  us  not  talk  any  more  about  it,"  he  said,  to 
cut  the  difficulty  short.  "  You  will  doubtless  be  so 
amiable  as  to  give  the  necessary  orders  about  your 

things?  " 

Leonora  shrugged  her  shoulders  very  slightly,  as 
much  as  it  is  wellbred  for  a  great  lady  to  do,  and 
as  much  as  would  horrify  a  very  strict  mamma. 

"If  you  wish  it,"  she  said,  " I  must." 

"  Then  we  will  start  in  two  days,  if  it  is  agree 
able  to  you." 

"  It  is  not  agreeable  to  me,"  said  Leonora,  wearied 


264  TO  LEEWARD. 

to  death  by  his  civility,  "  but  we  will  start  when 
you  please,  —  in  two  days  if  you  say  it." 

She  was  casting  about  in  her  mind  for  some  des 
perate  means  of  seeing  Julius  and  assuring  herself 
that  he  would  follow  her.  Of  course  he  would  do 
that,  but  she  could  not  go  without  seeing  him  once 
more  in  Sorrento;  there  was  so  much  to  be  said 
that  she  could  not  write,  —  so  very  much ! 

The  conversation  with  Marcantonio  had  taken 
place  little  more  than  an  hour  before  dinner.  As 
he  left  the  room  Leonora  glanced  at  the  clock. 
There  was  time  yet,  —  if  she  could  only  get  some 
conveyance.  She  might  see  Julius  and  be  back 
before  dinner.  She  could  make  some  excuse  for 
not  dressing  —  if  her  husband  noticed  it,  which 
was  unlikely.  He  had  gone  to  his  room,  contrary 
to  his  custom,  for  he  generally  did  not  leave  her 
until  she  went  to  dress.  His  windows  were  towards 
the  sea,  and  she  could  slip  out  through  the  garden. 
It  had  rained  a  little,  but  that  was  no  matter. 
There  would  be  the  less  dust. 

A  garden  hat  she  sometimes  wore  hung  in  the 
hall,  among  her  husband's  hats  and  whips  and 
sticks ;  she  snatched  it  quickly  and  went  out,  walk 
ing  leisurely  for  a  few  yards,  till  she  was  hidden 
by  the  orange-trees.  Then  she  gathered  up  her 
skirt  a  little  and  ran  like  a  deer  over  the  moist 
path,  through  the  gate  that  stood  ajar,  and  down 
the  narrow  lane  between  the  high  damp  walls  to 
wards  Sorrento,  never  looking  behind  her  nor 
pausing  to  take  breath,  for  she  feared  that  if  she 


TO  LEEWARD.  265 

stopped  to  breathe  she  would  stop  to  think,  and 
would  not  do  what  she  most  wished  to. 

There  are  always  little  open  carriages  hanging 
about  the  lanes  during  the  height  of  the  season,  in 
hopes  of  picking  up  stray  fares,  and  before  she  had 
gone  two  hundred  yards  she  overtook  one  of  these, 
moving  lazily  along.  The  man  was  all  grins  and 
alacrity  at  the  mere  sight  of  her  and  pulled  up,  ges 
ticulating  wildly  and  leaning  backward  over  his  box 
to  arrange  the  cushions  with  one  hand  while  he  held 
the  reins  with  the  other.  The  whole  conveyance  is 
so  small  that  the  driver  can  touch  every  part  of  the 
inside  with  his  hands  from  his  seat.  She  sprang 
in  and  told  the  man  the  name  of  Batiscombe's 
hotel,  promising  him  anything  if  he  would  drive 
fast.  In  six  or  seven  minutes  he  put  down  at  the 
door,  and  she  told  him  to  wait.  She  would  have 
dismissed  him  at  once  and  taken  another  to  return, 
but  she  found  herself  without  money.  She  could 
borrow  something  from  Batiscombe. 

He  had  chanced  to  tell  her  the  number  of  his 
rooms  one  day,  when  she  was  asking  about  the  ho 
tel,  and  now  she  luckily  remembered  it.  Stopping 
the  first  servant  she  met,  she  bade  him  show  her 
the  way.  One  of  Batiscombe's  sailors,  resplendent 
in  dark-blue  flannel  and  a  scarlet  silk  handkerchief, 
was  seated  on  a  bench  outside  the  door.  He  was  a 
quick  fellow,  and  Julius  employed  him  as  his  body 
servant.  Sailors,  he  said,  were  always  cleaner  than 
servants,  and  much  neater. 

The  man  sprang  to  his  feet,  saw  the  anxious  ex- 


266  TO  LEEWARD. 

pression  in  Leonora's  face  and  the  general  appear 
ance  of  haste  about  her,  and  guessing  he  could  not 
do  wrong,  opened  the  door  and  almost  pushed  her 
in,  closing  it  behind  her  and  confronting  the  aston 
ished  hotel  servant  with  a  perfectly  grave  face. 

Sailors  have  good  memories,  especially  for  people 
who  own  boats,  and  the  man  remembered  Leonora 
perfectly  well,  having  helped  to  row  her  to  Castel- 
lamare,  and  having  raced  her  crew  on  the  occasion 
when  Batiscombe  attempted  a  precipitous  flight. 
In  his  opinion  the  Marchesa  Carantoni  would  not 
wish  to  be  seen  waiting  outside  his  master's  door, 
whatever  might  be  the  errand  that  brought  her  in 
such  hot  hurry.  The  hotel  servant  grumbled  some 
thing  about  the  franc  he  had  expected  for  bringing 
the  lady  up,  and  the  stalwart  seaman  laughed  at  him 
so  that  he  cursed  the  whole  race  of  sea-folk,  and 
went  away  in  anger  of  the  serio-comic,  hotel  kind. 

Leonora  found  herself  in  Batiscombe's  sitting- 
room.  For  Batiscombe  was  a  luxurious  man,  ex 
cepting  when  he  was  roughing  it  in  earnest,  and  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  of  late  years  that  a  human 
being  could  not  exist  in  less  than  two  rooms,  if  he 
lived  in  rooms  at  all. 

Leonora  had  not  thought  at  all,  from  the  mo 
ment  when  she  had  taken  her  resolution  in  her  own 
drawing-room  until  she  found  herself  standing 
before  Julius  Batiscombe  in  the  hotel.  At  such 
times,  women  act  first  and  think  afterwards,  lest 
perchance  the  thinking  should  interfere  with  the 
doing.  But  now  that  the  thing  was  done,  she  real- 


TO  LEEWARD.  267 

izecl  at  once  the  whole  importance  of  the  step,  and 
at  the  same  time  she  understood  with  what  ease  it 
had  been  accomplished.  She  saw  how,  with  one 
bound,  she  was  out  of  her  prison,  and  with  the  man 
she  loved,  and  though  she  was  frightened  at  the 
magnitude  of  the  deed,  she  knew  that  with  him  she 
would  find  strength  and  comfort  and  happiness. 
What  did  it  matter  about  the  past? 

She  had  not  seen  Julius  for  a  fortnight,  and 
though  in  that  time  she  knew  that  her  love  had  in 
creased  tenfold,  yet  the  outline  of  him  had  lost  dis 
tinctness,  and  she  found  him  more  than  ever  the 
man  she  had  dreamed  of,  and  discovered,  and  loved. 
He  was  one  of  those  men  whose  magnificent  vital 
ity  casts  a  sort  of  magnetic  influence  on  their  sur 
roundings,  just  as  Leonora  herself  sometimes  did. 
When  Batiscombe  was  away,  his  faults  might  be 
detected  and  criticised,  —  his  selfishness,  his  com- 
bativeness,  his  vanities.  But  when  he  was  talking 
to  people,  and  chose  to  be  agreeable,  it  was  hard 
not  to  fall  under  the  spell.  He  was  so  eminently  a 
man  of  action  as  well  as  of  thought,  that  even  those 
who  disliked  him  most  were  obliged  to  confess  that 
he  had  certain  large  qualities,  —  comforting  them 
selves  by  describing  them  as  "  dangerous,"  as  per 
haps  they  were,  to  himself  and  others. 

And  now  Leonora  looked  upon  him  and  knew 
how  wholly  and  truly  she  loved  him,  and  how  ready 
she  was  to  sacrifice  anything  and  anybody  to  her 
love,  even  to  herself  and  her  own  reputation  and 
honor.  With  heroic  people  that  consideration  of 


268  TO  LEEWARD. 

self  might  first  be  thrown  to  the  wincls  ;  but  Leo 
nora  was  not  heroic.  She  was  very  passionate  and 
sometimes  very  foolish,  but  with  all  her  "  higher 
standard "  she  believed  in  the  social  regulations 
and  distinctions  of  life.  It  was  the  English  part 
of  her  nature,  fighting  for  a  show  of  Philistinism 
amidst  so  much  that  was  the  very  reverse.  It  was 
a  strong  passion  indeed  that  could  make  her  throw 
it  all  away,  or  even  think  such  a  step  possible. 

It  was  not  that  she  had  yielded  weakly  to  a  first 
impression  of  weariness  after  her  marriage,  and 
had  at  once  begun  to  amuse  herself  with  the  first 
man  who  crossed  her  path.  Weariness  alone,  the 
mere  commonplace  sensation  of  being  bored,  could 
never  have  led  her  to  such  a  length.  A  great  va 
riety  of  circumstances  had  combined  to  bring  about 
her  destruction.  The  wild  and  exalted  ideas  of 
her  girlhood,  gilding  Marcantonio  with  just  enough 
romance  to  make  him  barely  come  within  the  line  of 
her  "  standard,"  but  nerved  and  encouraged  by  the 
faculty  she  possessed  for  deceiving  herself,  had 
led  her  into  a  rash  marriage ;  in  which  she  had  been 
helped  and  applauded  by  all  those  sensible  people 
who  think  that  when  money  and  position  are  com 
bined  on  both  sides,  marriage  must  necessarily  be 
a  good  thing.  Then  followed  the  bitter  disappoint 
ment  and  collapse  of  all  her  theories  and  hopes, 
leaving  a  desperate  void  and  a  certainty  of  misery, 
which  gathered  strength  even  from  the  command  of 
language  she  had  acquired  in  the  study  of  the  im 
aginary  nothingness  of  everything.  All  the  terms 


TO  LEEWARD.  269 

she  had  learned,  wherewith  to  express  that  the 
world  was  a  wretched  sham,  she  applied  to  her  own 
case  with  a  savage  readiness,  when  she  found  her 
self  disappointed.  And  then,  at  the  very  moment 
when  there  seemed  nothing  before  her  but  a  dreary 
waste  of  years,  chained  to  a  man  whose  whole  life 
was  made  up  of  details,  and  mild  though  sincere 
affection,  an  individual  had  appeared  who  realized 
the  dream  she  had  lost,  —  a  man  full  of  strength 
and  courage  and  intellect,  and  possessing  to  the  full 
that  weakness  which  to  women  seems  the  noblest 
quality  of  all,  and  the  strongest,  the  capacity  for 
being  madly  and  recklessly  in  love. 

And  it  is  indeed  a  noble  quality  so  long  as  it  is 
locked  close  within  the  treasury  of  the  soul,  and  so 
long  as  one  good  woman,  and  one  only,  holds  the 
key.  But  of  all  the  unutterable  baseness  in  this 
world,  there  is  none  more  despicable  than  that  of 
the  man  who  can  make  one  woman  after  another 
believe  that  he  loves  her  to  distraction,  as  he  never 
loved  any  one  else,  — even  though  he  may  each 
time  believe  it  himself  and  swear  to  himself  beneath 
the  maudlin  moon,  with  an  ever  fresh  stock  of  con 
temptible  sentimentality,  that  he  has  reached  his 
last  and  greatest  passion,  —  the  very  last;  well 
knowing,  the  while,  that  if  the  furies  spare  him  to 
an  unhonored  old  age,  it  is  out  of  sheer  contempt 
for  the  blear-eyed  Adonis,  shambling  weak-kneed 
to  his  grave  with  a  rose  in  his  button-hole  and  a 
ghastly  leer  at  the  last  woman  he  meets  before 
death  overtakes  him. 


270  TO  LEEWARD. 

Leonora  was  a  woman  who  was  probably  in 
capable  of  a  second  passion,  and  the  wholeness  of 
the  first  might  lend  it  some  dignity,  some  simple 
loftiness  of  disregard  for  lesser  things,  making  it 
seem  nobler  for  being  a  single  sin,  sinned  bravely 
for  true  love's  sake.  When  there  is  any  excuse 
for  love  it  is  an  easy  task  to  make  it  look  far  bet 
ter  than  it  is.  There  were  such  things  in  the  world 
long  before  Launcelot  loved  Guinevere,  or  Heloise 
was  laid  in  the  grave  with  Abelard ;  and  the  world 
may  see  such  things  again.  But  the  world  has  no 
lack  of  men  like  Julius  Batiscombe,  men  in  no  way 
worthy  of  the  women  who  love  them,  nor  ever  able 
to  be  worthy. 

Leonora  had  chosen,  and  she  would  not  have 
given  him  up  for  all  the  joys  of  paradise,  any  more 
than  she  would  have  believed  a  word  against  his 
faithfulness  and  loyalty  to  herself.  He  had  sworn 
—  how  could  he  deceive  her  ? 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

WHEN  Leonora  met  her  husband  at  dinner  an 
hour  later,  her  face  was  set  like  a  mask,  for  her 
mind  was  made  up,  and  every  moment  hardened 
her  stony  determination. 

Julius  had  said  to  her  "  come,"  and  she  would 
go  to  the  very  end  of  the  world  if  need  be.  He 
had  stated  the  case  with  a  show  of  fairness.  She 
must  fully  understand  the  step,  he  said,  and  that 
there  was  no  return  possible  from  such  an  exile 
as  they  undertook  together.  She  must  abandon 
everything,  and  not  only  her  husband,  but  her 
mother,  her  father,  her  position  before  the  world, 
her  svhole  gorgeous,  luxurious,  aristocratic  exist 
ence.  She  must  rely  on  his  arm  alone  to  support 
her,  and  on  his  love  to  be  her  only  comfort  and 
compensation.  They  must  live  an  isolated  life, 
whether  wandering,  or  resting  in  some  quiet  place 
where  society  never  came.  She  must  also  take  the 
chance  of  his  being  killed  by  Marcantonio,  who 
would  certainly  make  an  effort  to  destroy  him,  and 
the  chance  was  not  small,  considering  the  provoca 
tion.  If  it  happened  that  he  fell,  she  would  cer 
tainly  be  left  alone  in  the  world.  This  was  proba 
bly  the  strongest  argument  with  her  against  flight, 
but  it  had  not  weight  enough  to  hold  her  back,  for 


272  TO  LEEWARD. 

she  had  the  pride  of  a  woman  who  had  found  a 
man  ready  to  fight  for  her,  in  these  latter  days 
when  fighting  is  so  terribly  out  of  fashion;  and 
she  felt  in  her  heart  that  she  would  always  be  able 
to  prevent  an  encounter,  and  so  it  did  not  matter 
so  much,  after  all. 

The  resolution  she  had  made  had  killed  any 
doubt  that  might  still  have  remained  as  to  the  ulti 
mate  result  of  her  love  for  Julius.  Henceforth  it 
was  her  duty  to  kill  doubts  in  order  to  be  happy  ; 
and,  to  say  truth,  there  were  few  left,  for  her  love 
was  very  sincere  and  real.  But  if  any  should  arise 
she  meant  to  smother  them  instantly.  Perhaps 
she  had  had  some  similar  intention  when  she  mar 
ried  Marcantonio,  for  her  nature  was  so  enthusias 
tic  and  sanguine  that  when  once  she  had  decided 
on  a  course  she  would  prove  to  herself  it  was  right 
in  defiance  of  anything  —  except,  of  course,  some 
thing  she  liked  better.  And  now  she  remembered 
every  word  her  lover  had  spoken  in  that  brief 
stolen  interview,  and  she  felt  no  fear.  But  her 
face  was  set,  and  she  looked  defiantly  at  her  hus 
band.  A  few  hours  more,  she  thought,  and  she 
would  be  free  from  him,  from  the  world,  from 
everything —  forever. 

They  would  have  gone  at  once,  that  very  minute, 
but  Batiscombe  pointed  out  that  the  time  was  ill 
chosen.  She  had  been  seen  to  come  to  the  hotel, 
—  the  servant  who  had  shown  her  up-stairs  had 
noticed  her,  perhaps  recognized  her;  in  half  an 
hour  after  the  dinner  hour  she  would  be  missed  at 


TO  LEEWARD.  273 

the  villa,  and  they  would  surely  be  overtaken  on 
land,  especially  as  there  was  no  train  at  that  time. 
Julius  said  his  boat  was  moored  at  the  foot  of  the 
cliff  below  the  hotel,  but  it  would  be  impossible  to 
reach  it  without  being  observed  by  many  people, 
some  of  whom  might  recognize  her.  There  was 
also  no  wind,  the  sea  was  oily  with  a  deadly  calm, 
and  the  full  moon,  just  rising,  would  make  pursuit 
easy,  for  though  his  boat  could  beat  anything  on 
the  coast  under  canvas,  she  was  over  heavy  in  the 
water  for  his  six  men  to  row  at  any  speed. 

But  at  midnight,  when  the  easterly  breeze  was 
blowing  from  the  land,  he  would  be  down  at  the 
landing  of  her  villa,  ready.  Marcantonio  was  al 
ways  asleep  at  that  hour,  for  he  rose  betimes  in 
the  morning  and  went  to  bed  early.  The  dogs  ? 
Julius  had  thought  of  that,  and  sending  his  sailor 
servant  to  the  kitchen  of  the  hotel,  he  obtained  in 
a  few  minutes  a  couple  of  solid  lumps  of  meat, 
which  he  caused  to  be  wrapped  in  paper  and  then 
tied  up  in  a  silk  handkerchief  for  her  to  carry. 
She  might  find  it  hard,  he  said,  to  get  anything  of 
the  kind  in  her  own  house.  She  was  fond  of  ani 
mals,  and  was  sure  she  could  manage  to  quiet  the 
terriers  in  a  moment  if  she  had  something  to  give 
them.  Besides,  they  knew  her,  and  would  only 
bark  a  very  little  at  first.  The  moon  was  full,  to 
be  sure,  but  that  could  not  be  helped.  Once  on 
the  water,  nothing  short  of  steam  could  catch  them, 
and  that  was  not  available  at  such  short  notice. 
She  should  not  hamper  her  flight  with  unnecessary 

18 


274  TO  LEEWARD. 

things,  he  said,  for  if  any  one  were  roused  she 
would  have  to  run  for  her  life  as  far  as  the  begin 
ning  of  the  descent  where  he  would  be  in  waiting 
for  her.  These  and  a  hundred  other  little  direc 
tion^  he  had  given  her,  with  the  quiet  forethought 
for  details  that  was  part  of  his  remarkable  intel- 
'lect.  He  had  told  her  in  five  minutes  what  to 
wear,  what  she  might  take,  what  she  should  eat  in 
order  to  bear  the  fatigue  —  in  a  word,  nothing  had 
escaped  him. 

And  now  she  sat  opposite  her  husband  at  their 
small  dinner-table,  looking  hard  and  determined, 
but  listening  with  more  than  usual  complacency  to 
his  talk,  and  striving  to  eat  something,  as  Julius 
had  instructed  her.  She  made  such  a  good  pre 
tence  that  Marcantonio  noticed  it  approvingly. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see,  mon  ange"  he  said,  "  that 
you  are  finding  again  your  appetite.  It  is  most 
encouraging." 

It  was  just  like  his  want  of  tact,  thought  Leo 
nora.  It  was  just  like  him  to  suppose  that  she 
would  eat  the  more  because  he  wanted  her  to  do 
so,  and  watched  her  !  Dieu  !  what  a  nuisance  to 
be  always  watched.  It  would  soon  be  over  now, 
however,  and  she  could  afford  to  be  indifferent. 

"  En  effet"  said  she,  "  I  am  hungry  —  I  do  not 
know  why." 

"  Does  any  one  know  why  they  are  hungry  ?  " 
said  Marcantonio,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  It  happens 
to  me  to  take  much  exercise.  I  rise  with  the  sun, 
I  walk,  I  ride,  I  despatch  my  correspondence,  I 


TO  LEEWARD.  275 

work  like  a  dog  —  et  puis,  at  breakfast  I  eat  noth 
ing.  No  appetite.  Good !  Another  day,  I  lie  in 
bed  till  ten  o'clock,  rise  with  a  cigarette,  read  a 
novel,  and  —  voyez  done,  how  droll  —  I  eat,  per 
haps,  for  four  people.  But  I  have  often  observed 
that,  if  I  eat  a  mayonnaise  at  dinner,  I  have  no 
appetite  the  next  day  at  breakfast.  It  is  pourtant 
extremely  singular,  for  the  cook  makes  the  mayon 
naise  of  great  delicacy." 

What  could  it  possibly  matter  whether  Marcan- 
tonio  were  hungry  or  not,  or  what  he  ate  for  din 
ner  ?  But  Leonora  was  glad  to  have  him  say  any 
thing,  so  that  she  might  be  spared  the  effort  of 
talking. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  said,  absently,  "  his  mayonnaise 
is  not  bad."  She  hoped  he  would  go  011 ;  it  was 
an  easy,  neutral  subject  —  of  many  ingredients, 
concerning  each  of  which  it  would  be  possible  to 
differ  and  to  raise  a  fresh  discussion. 

"  A  propos"  said  Marcantonio,  "  the  gardener's 
boy  cut  his  finger  very  badly  this  afternoon  "  — 

"  A  propos  of  mayonnaise  ?  "  Leonora  could 
not  help  asking  the  question.  His  conversation 
was  so  absurd. 

"  Ma  foi  !  mayonnaise  —  vegetables  —  gardens 
—  gardeners  and  the  gardener's  boy  —  all  that 
holds  together.  As  I  was  saying,  he  cut  his  fin 
ger,  and  I  sent  your  maid  to  get  something  to  bind 
it  with." 

"  I  hope  she  did  not  take  one  of  my  lace  hand 
kerchiefs,"  remarked  Leonora.  "  It  would  be  just 
like  her." 


276  TO   LEEWARD. 

•l  It  was  not  lace,  I  am  sure,"  said  Marcantonio, 
with  an  air  of  conviction,  as  he  helped  himself  to 
the  salad  which  Temistocle  handed  him.  "  But  it 
looked  very  new.  I  hope  she  made  no  mistake." 

The  comic  side  of  the  situation  suddenly  forced 
itself  on  Leonora,  as  it  often  will  happen  with  peo 
ple  on  the  eve  of  great  danger.  A  lackey  in  Paris 
once  danced  a  jig  on  the  scaffold  before  he  was 
broken  on  the  wheel.  Leonora  laughed  aloud. 

"Would  it  amuse  you,  for  instance,"  inquired 
Marcantonio  with  a  puzzled  look,  "  to  have  a  good 
handkerchief  destroyed  to  tie  up  the  boy's  finger  ?  " 
It  seemed  so  funny  to  Leonora  to  think  that  on 
the  morrow  her  entire  stock  of  handkerchiefs  would 
be  at  the  disposal  of  all  the  gardeners  in  Sorrento 
if  they  chanced  to  cut  their  fingers. 

"  No  —  not  that,"  she  said.       "  It  is  so  odd  that 
you  should  take  so  much  trouble  about  it  —  or  care." 
"  Poor  people,"  said  Marcantonio,  "  one  must  do 
what  one  can  for  them." 

And  so  their  last  conversation  tottered  to  its  end 
in  a  round  of  domestic  triviality,  so  that  Leonora 
wondered  how  she  could  have  borne  it  so  long. 
But,  in  truth,  Marcantonio  was  so  much  afraid  of 
rousing  her  opposition  that  evening,  after  the  scene 
that  had  taken  place,  that  he  purposely  avoided 
every  intelligent  subject,  and  did  violence  to  his 
own  preference  for  the  sake  of  keeping  the  peace. 
He  liked  to  talk  politics,  he  liked  to  talk  of  Eome, 
of  society,  of  a  hundred  things,  but  of  late  he  had 
found  it  very  hard  to  talk  peaceably  about  any 
thing. 


TO  LEEWARD.  277 

After  dinner  Marcantonio  smoked,  and  Leonora 
sat  beside  him,  with  a  little  worsted  work  that  she 
did  with  a  huge  ivory  needle.  Her  heart  beat  fast 
as  the  hour  approached  when  she  must  part  from 
her  husband.  She  glanced  at  him  from  time  to 
time,  sitting  there  so  unsuspecting  of  any  surprise, 
with  his  cigarette  and  his  "  Fanfulla,"  the  witty 
Roman  paper  that  amused  him  so  much.  His  deli 
cate,  dark  features,  a  little  weak  perhaps,  looked 
handsome  enough  in  the  lamplight,  and  Leonora 
thought  for  a  moment  that  she  had  never  seen  him 
look  so  well.  She  was  already  so  far  from  him  in 
her  thoughts  that  she  regarded  him  as  from  a  dis 
tance,  with  a  certain  abstracted  consideration  of 
his  merits  that  was  new  to  her.  Poor  Marcan 
tonio  !  A  certain  curiosity,  that  would  have  been 
pity  if  she  had  allowed  it,  came  ovgr  her.  She 
wondered  how  he  would  look  when  she  was  gone. 
Ten  o'clock  —  two  hours  to  midnight,  and  he  never 
saw  her  before  nine  in  the  morning  now.  Nine 
and  two  were  eleven.  In  eleven  hours  he  would 
know  —  unless  something  happened.  Would  he 
rage  and  storm,  like  a  wild  beast  ?  Or  would  he 
break  down  and  shed  tears  ?  Neither,  she  thought. 
He  did  not  love  her  —  he  was  only  jealous. 
Heavens!  thought  she,  if  Julius  had  been  in  his 
position,  and  he  in  Julius's,  could  things  have  ever 
got  to  this  pass  without  some  fearful  outbreak? 
Ah  no !  Julius  was  so  hot-tempered  and  strong. 
Her  thoughts  went  away  with  her,  and  she  heaved 
a  quick  short  breath,  suddenly  interrupted  in  the 


278  TO   LEEWARD. 

recollection  of  where  she  was.  Marcantonio  looked 
round. 

"  What  is  it,  ma  chere  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing  —  I  was  going  to  sneeze,"  said  Leo 
nora  with  a  ready  excuse. 

"  There  is  too  much  air,"  said  he,  rising  and  go 
ing  toward  the  window.  He  looked  out  for  a  mo 
ment.  The  first  breath  of  the  easterly  wind  was 
coming  over  the  mountains  and  just  stirring  a  rip 
ple  on  the  moonlit  bay.  It  had  rained  early  in  the 
afternoon,  and  they  had  sat  indoors  on  account  of 
the  dampness.  Marcantonio  sniffed  the  breeze,  said 
it  was  damp,  and  closed  the  window. 

"It  must  be  late,"  said  he.  "En  verite,  it  is 
twenty  minutes  to  eleven  !  I  would  not  have 
thought  it." 

Leonora' ^heart  beat  fast. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  time  to  go  to  bed,"  she  said, 
with  enough  indifference  to  escape  notice.  Marc 
antonio  had  not  enjoyed  the  evening  much,  and 
was  sleepy.  Leonora  moved  slowly  about  the  room, 
touching  a  book  here  and  a  photograph  there  as 
though  to  make  the  room  comfortable  for  the  night. 
Some  women  always  do  it.  Her  blood  was  throb 
bing  wildly  —  the  last  strong  effort  of  conscience 
was  upon  her.  A  great  pity  sprang  up  in  her  —  a 
terrible  regret  —  a  horror  of  great  evil.  Her  reso 
lutions,  her  love,  her  determination  to  fly,  her  bet 
ter  self,  all  struggled  and  reeled  furiously  together. 
She  felt  an  irresistible  impulse  to  throw  herself 
at  her  husband's  feet,  to  confess  everything,  to 


TO  LEEWARD.  279 

implore  his  protection,  and  forgiveness,  and  help. 
She  turned  towards  him  suddenly.  He  was  in  the 
act  of  ringing  the  bell. 

The  sharp  tinkle  of  the  thing,  sounding  from  far 
away  through  the  open  doors  of  the  house,  checked 
her  when  she  was  on  the  very  point  of  speaking. 
Almost  instantly,  the  quick  tread  of  the  servant 
was  heard.  He  came,  and  the  supreme  moment 
was  over.  The  reality  of  her  situation  returned, 
and  with  it  the  hardness  it  needed.  The  man  had 
the  candles  ready  in  his  hands,  and  stood  waiting 
to  accompany  Leonora  to  her  door. 

"  Good-night,  Marcantoine,"  said  she,  holding 
out  her  hand.  It  was  cold  and  clammy  with  in 
tense  excitement,  and  her  face  was  pale  to  the  lips. 

"  Bonne  nuit,  mon  ange  cherie,"  said  he,  touch 
ing  his  lips  to  her  fingers,  and  she  passed  from  him. 
Just  beyond  the  door  she  turned  and  looked  back, 
with  a  touch  of  sadness. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said  once  more,  faintly  —  for 
the  last,  the  very  last  time. 

When  Marcantonio  was  alone,  he  took  his  news 
papers,  and  one  or  two  letters  that  had  come  by  the 
late  post,  he  looked  carefully  round  the  room,  to 
see  that  he  had  forgotten  nothing,  as  he  had  a  bad 
habit  of  doing,  and  he  marched  gloomily  off  to  his 
room,  which  was  beyond  Leonora's,  and  separated 
from  hers  by  her  sitting-room.  Her  dressing-room 
was  on  the  other  side  of  her  bedroom,  and  had  a 
separate  door,  opening  upon  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

As  soon  as  Leonora  had  dismissed  her  maid  for 


280  TO  LEEWARD. 

the  night,  she  began  to  make  her  preparations. 
She  had  a  large  silk  bag,  of  many  colors,  made  like 
an  old  fashioned  purse,  with  heavy  silver  rings. 
She  used  it  for  carrying  her  work,  her  books,  or 
anything  she  needed  when  she  went  into  the  garden 
to  spend  the  morning.  It  seemed  the  best  thing  to 
take  with  her  now,  for  it  would  hold  a  good  deal 
and  was  convenient.  She  filled  it  with  handker 
chiefs,  bottles  of  eau-de-cologne,  and  hairpins,  and 
she  put  in  a  tiny  looking-glass  in  a  silver  case,  that 
she  had  used  all  her  life.  It  was  of  no  use  to  think 
of  taking  anything  else,  she  thought,  since  she  must 
carry  it  all  in  her  hand.  Then  she  went  over  her 
jewels  and  took  her  own,  carefully  setting  aside  all 
that  her  husband  had  given  her.  She  tied  them 
up  in  a  handkerchief  with  two  hard  knots,  —  the 
best  she  knew  how  to  make,  —  and  she  put  them 
into  the  bag  with  the  rest  of  the  things.  Then  she 
found  her  purse,  and  put  into  it  all  the  money  she 
had,  for  it  was  her  own,  and  she  thought  she  might 
as  well  have  it,  —  and  there  was  her  cheque-book 
in  the  drawer  of  the  writing-table.  Of  course  she 
could  draw  her  own  money  just  as  well  when  — 
she  did  not  finish  the  sentence  to  herself. 

Presently  she  went  into  the  sitting-room,  and 
listened  at  the  small  side  door  that  opened  into 
Marcantonio's  bedroom.  She  had  taken  an  hour 
over  her  preparations  ;  it  was  half  past  eleven,  and 
he  was  asleep,  —  she  heard  his  regular  breathing 
distinctly.  The  full  moon  shone  outside  upon  the 
gravel  walks,  and  the  orange-trees,  and  the  soft 


TO  LEEWARD.  281 

wind  was  blowing  steadily  through  the  open  win 
dows.  She  paused  one  moment  before  she  went 
back,  and  she  looked  out  at  the  scene,  so  sweet  and 
peaceful  in  the  ivory  moonlight.  Far  off  in  the 
town  the  clocks  struck  the  half  hour.  Julius  must 
be  already  on  the  water,  perhaps  near  the  landing. 
She  hastened  to  her  room,  treading  on  tiptoe ;  her 
maid  had  left  her  in  her  loose  white  peignoir ; 
she  must  dress  again,  and  dress  quickly,  or  she 
would  be  late. 

It  did  not  take  long,  —  though  she  put  the  can 
dle  before  her  glass,  and  dallied  a  little  with  a  rib 
bon  and  a  pin.  The  dress  was  soft  and  dark, 
fitting  close  to  her  figure.  In  reality  she  had  se 
lected  it  because  it  had  a  pocket,  —  that  would  be 
such  a  convenient  thing  on  a  journey.  A  hat  — 
yes,  she  must  have  a  hat,  for  of  course  they  would 
land  somewhere,  though  a  veil  would  be  more  con 
venient  in  the  wind. 

There  was  a  great  vase  of  carnations,  gathered 
that  day,  that  stood  on  a  little  table  by  the  window. 
At  the  last  minute,  Leonora  stopped  and  took  one. 
She  went  back  to  the  glass  with  the  candle  in  her 
hand,  and  pinned  the  flower  in  her  dress,  eying  the 
effect  critically.  They  were  the  flowers  he  loved 
best,  —  it  was  an  afterthought,  arid  would  please 
him.  She  was  ready,  the  bag  hung  over  her  arm, 
the  package  of  meat  for  the  dogs  in  one  hand,  and 
a  candle  in  the  other.  She  blew  out  the  remaining 
lights  as  the  clocks  struck  midnight,  put  the  one 
she  carried  upon  a  chair  by  the  door,  while  she 


282  TO  LEEWARD. 

softly  turned  the  latch,  looked  out  cautiously,  and 
left  the  room. 

Once  out  of  the  passage  and  on  the  stairs,  she 
had  no  fear  of  being  heard,  and  she  descended  rap 
idly.  One  moment  more  and  she  was  in  the  open 
air.  The  front  door  closed  behind  her.  Some 
thing  touched  her  feet,  and,  looking  down,  she  saw 
that  the  white  kitten  had  followed  her  out ;  she  had 
not  noticed  it,  poor  thing,  and  she  could  not  risk 
opening  the  door  again  to  put  it  back. 

She  glanced  out  into  the  moonlight  from  beneath 
the  porch,  and  she  was  frightened.  It  was  only  a 
step  —  a  minute's  run,  if  she  ran  fast,  to  the  be 
ginning  of  the  passage  —  but  she  hesitated  and 
hung  back.  Oh,  if  the  last  step  were  not  so  hard ! 
If  Julius  had  only  met  her  at  the  door  instead  of 
being  down  there  —  but  he  was  even  now  at  the 
head  of  the  steps.  She  realized  his  presence,  and 
the  garden  was  no  longer  a  solitude  —  she  was  not 
alone  any  more.  The  kitten  mewed  discontentedly. 
She  bethought  herself  of  the  dogs,  picked  up  the 
little  beast,  and  moved  quickly  down  the  walk, 
running  faster  as  she  neared  the  end. 

Her  running  on  the  path  roused  the  terriers,  which 
were  prowling  about  among  the  shrubbery  in  the 
warm  night,  and  they  sprang  upon  her  not  ten 
yards  from  the  mouth  of  the  descent,  barking  furi 
ously  and  snapping  at  her  dress.  She  dropped  the 
parcel  of  meat  instantly,  but  they  did  not  see  it  at 
once,  and  pursued  her.  In  one  moment  more  she 
was  lifted  from  the  ground  and  held  firmly  in  the 


TO  LEEWARD.  283 

mighty  grasp  of  the  strong  man  who  stood  ready, 
and  had  run  forward  to  meet  her  when  the  dogs 
sprang  out.  But,  in  the  quick  act,  the  kitten  fell 
to  the  ground  almost  between  the  enraged  terriers. 

It  was  over  in  a  minute.  One  frantic,  piteous 
death-scream  and  the  poor  little  white  cat  lay  dead 
on  the  gravel  path,  and  the  terriers  sniffed  her  little 
body  disdainfully,  as  though  congratulating  each 
other  011  their  brave  deed. 

"  Oh,  Julius,  they  have  killed  my  kitten!  "  cried 
Leonora  in  real  distress.  They  were  already  under 
the  archway,  and  Batiscombe  was  urging  her  to  de 
scend,  but  she  clung  to  him,  and  stared  back  into 
the  moonlight  at  the  dogs  and  her  dead  pet. 

Julius  himself  was  enraged  at  the  thing  —  it  was 
so  wantonly  cruel. 

"Run  on,"  said  he,  in  a  whisper;  "  I  will  settle 
them."  He  had  reflected  quickly  that  they  had 
only  barked  for  a  moment,  and  that  any  one  who 
heard  them  would  have  heard  the  cat  also  and 
would  have  taken  no  notice  of  the  noise. 

At  that  very  moment  Marcantonio  turned  on  his 
pillow,  and,  half  waking,  swore  to  himself,  as  he 
had  done  every  night  of  his  life  for  weeks,  that  he 
would  send  the  dogs  away  in  the  morning.  But  all 
was  still,  and  he  fell  asleep  again  instantly. 

Julius  went  back  upon  the  path,  and  the  terriers 
growled,  still  scenting  their  vanquished  prey.  But 
he  moved  quickly  and  softly,  speaking  gently  to 
them  in  a  low  voice,  and  holding  out  his  hand  to 
them.  He  had  a  sort  of  influence  over  animals, 


284  TO  LEEWARD. 

and  they  let  him  come  close,  pricking  their  ears 
and  sniffing  about  his  legs.  Suddenly,  as  they 
smelled  at  his  boots,  he  caught  them  by  their  necks 
in  an  iron  grip,  one  in  each  hand,  and  held  them 
up  at  arm's  length,  struggling  frantically,  but  ut 
terly  incapable  of  making  a  sound. 

"  You  killed  her  cat,  did  you,  you  brutes  ?  "  he 
muttered,  savagely.  "  I  will  kill  you." 

He  broke  their  necks,  one  after  the  other,  and 
threw  their  quivering  bodies  far  out  under  the 
orange-trees. 

Leonora  had  watched  him  from  the  archway. 
She  shuddered. 

"  They  will  not  bark  any  more,"  said  Julius,  as 
he  came  to  her. 

"  What  strong  hands  you  have  !  "  she  said. 

A  window  opened,  up  in  the  house,  a  hundred 
yards  away.  Batiscombe's  quick  ear  caught  the 
sound. 

"  Come,  sweetheart,"  he  whispered  ;  "  some  one 
is  stirring."  His  arm  was  round  her  as  he  guided 
her  down  the  first  steps,  tenderly  and  strongly. 
She  stumbled  a  little. 

"  Oh^  Julius,  I  am  so  frightened !  "  she  said  pit- 
eously. 

He  stopped  and  took  her  off  the  ground  as 
though  she  had  been  a  child,  and  bore  her  swiftly 
and  surely  through  the  dark  way.  She  could  see 
his  fiery  blue  eyes  in  the  gloom,  and  in  the  flashes 
of  white  light  as  they  passed  the  windows  and 
arches  where  the  moon  streamed  in,  and  as  she 


TO  LEEWARD.  285 

looked  she  could  feel  her  own  grow  big  and  dark ; 
and  she  was  frightened  and  very  happy.  But  she 
thought  of  that  strange  thing  she  had  dreamed  — 
this  very  flight  of  hers  exactly  as  it  was  to  happen, 
so  that  she  hid  her  face  against  his  coat  and  clung 
to  him  nervously. 

"Put  me  down,"  she  cried  earnestly,  as  they 
emerged  upon  the  flat  rock  of  the  landing,  "  put 
me  down,  Julius,  —  I  dreamed  you  fell  here." 

He  obeyed  her,  and  set  her  on  her  feet,  still  sup 
porting  her  with  his  arm  about  her  waist.  One 
passionate  kiss  —  only  one  —  and  then  they  came 
out  from  the  shadow  of  the  high  cliff,  and  saw  the 
boat  riding  lightly  in  the  moonlight,  two  sailors 
holding  her  off  the  rocks,  and  the  rest  busy  on 
board  with  the  sails.  The  water  plashed  musically 
in  the  little  hollows,  and  from  near  by  there  came 
a  deep,  mysterious  murmur  out  of  the  many  dark 
caves  that  lined  the  shore. 

Leonora  stepped  lightly  in,  and  Julius  arranged 
the  cushions  about  her  carefully.  Neither  of  them 
spoke.  With  a  few  strong  strokes  of  the  oars  the 
boat  shot  out  into  the  breeze  from  the  lee  of  the 
gorge.  The  jib  was  already  set,  and  foresail  and 
mainsail  went  up  in  a  moment,  wing  and  wing,  the 
tapering,  lateen-yards  pointing  to  right  and  left, 
like  the  horns  of  a  great,  soft,  white  moth  ;  the 
water  rippled  at  the  stern,  and  curled  up  and 
lapped  the  rudder  as  the  sails  filled,  and  ever 
swiftly  and  more  swiftly  the  craft  rushed  down  the 
bay  in  the  glorious  moonlight,  before  the  steady 
east  wind. 


286  TO  LEEWARD.       . 

Julius  held  the  tiller  with  one  hand,  and  the 
other  lovingly  supported  Leonora's  head  against 
his  breast,  as  she  lay  along  the  cushions  in  the 
stern. 

"  Darling,"  he  said  presently,  "  what  was  the 
dream  about  my  falling  at  the  landing  ?  You  never 
told  me." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  lay  quite  still. 

"  Dear  one,"  he  murmured,  bending  down,  "  are 
you  so  tired?  Leonora — sweetheart  —  speak  to 
me!" 

But  the  strain  had  been  too  strong,  and  Leonora 
lay  in  his  arms,  whiter  than  death  under  the  white 
moon,  unconscious  of  Julius  or  of  the  sea.  Julius 
saw  that  she  had  fainted. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

AT  half  past  eight  the  next  morning  Temistocle 
found  Leonora's  maid  at  the  door  of  her  mistress's 
room  with  an  expression  of  blank  astonishment  on 
her  face  that  made  him  laugh.  He  often  laughed, 
quietly,  without  the  least  noise. 

"  You  look  exactly  like  a  lay  figure  in  a  milli 
ner's  shop,"  he  remarked.  "  Except,  indeed,  that 
you  look  much  more  stupid." 

The  maid  glared  at  him. 

"  The  signora  "-  -  she  began,  and  then  trembled 
and  looked  round  timidly. 

"  What  about  her  ?  "  inquired  Temistocle,  prick 
ing  up  his  ears. 

The  maid  let  her  voice  drop  to  a  low  whisper. 

"  She  is  not  there,"  said  she. 

" Ellene"  said  Temistocle  with  a  grin,  "what 
has  happened  to  you?  She  is  probably  gone  out  — 
gone  to  church.  A  good  place  for  heretics,  too." 

"  Macche"  whispered  the  woman,  "  she  has  not 
slept  in  her  bed,  and  everything  is  upside  down  in 
the  room." 

"  May  the  devil  carry  you  off  I "  said  Temisto 
cle,  suddenly  changing  his  voice,  and  whispering 
hoarsely.  "Let  me  see  — let  me  pass."  He  put 
down  the  can  of  hot  water  he  was  taking  to  his 


288  TO  LEEWARD. 

master,  and  pushed  past  the  maid,  into  Leonora's 
bedroom. 

"  Bada"  said  the  woman,  going  after  him  cau 
tiously,  "take  care!  The  signore  might  come  in 
and  find  you." 

"  What  harm  is  there  ?  "  asked  the  servant.  And 
then  he  made  a  careful  survey  of  the  premises, 
locking  all  the  doors  except  the  one  by  which  they 
had  entered. 

"  It  is  true,  what  you  said,"  he  remarked,  push 
ing  the  maid  out  of  the  room.  "  An  apoplexy  on 
these  foreigners  who  go  away  without  telling  one. 
Fuori !  Go  along  with  you,  my  child.  Ci  penso 
io  —  I  will  look  after  all  this."  And  he  locked 
the  door  behind  him,  put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  and 
took  up  his  -water-can. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  asked  the  maid.  Temis- 
tocle  had  seen  a  chance,  and  took  it. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he,  rubbing  the  thumb  and 
forefinger  of  his  hand  together  before  the  girl's  eyes, 
—  which  means  "  money  "  in  gesture  language, 
"  look  here.  The  signore  accompanied  the  signora 
to  the  early  train  from  Castellamare  this  morning 
at  half  past  four.  They  had  a  hired  carriage.  She 
went  away  and  forgot  her  jewels  on  the  table.  She 
is  gone  to  Eome  on  business,  —  they  were  talking 
about  it  last  night.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  the  woman  looking  puzzled, 
"  you  said  she  had  gone  out  "  — 

"  I  said  so  to  you,"  he  answered  with  a  sly  grin, 
"but  I  will  not  say  so  to  any  one  else,  nor  you 


TO  LEEWARD.  289 

either.  Kemember  that  she  went  to  Kome  this 
morning.  It  will  be  worth  your  while  to  remem 
ber  that." 

The  woman  smiled  a  cunning  smile.  She  had 
hated  her  mistress,  and  would  have  liked  to  make 
a  scandal  before  all  the  other  servants,  but  Temis- 
tocle's  advice  would  be  more  profitable.  So  they 
arranged  the  matter  between  them  and  parted. 

Marcantonio  was  seated  at  his  writing-table 
when  Temistocle  entered.  He  always  got  up  very 
early,  and  did  a  great  many  things  before  he 
dressed. 

Temistocle  busied  himself  a  moment  about  the 
room,  and  when  he  was  ready  to  go  he  came  to 
the  table  and  laid  the  key  he  had  taken  from  Leo 
nora's  door  at  his  master's  elbow. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  Marcantonio,  looking  up. 

"  It  is  the  key  of  the  Signora  Marchesa's  bed 
room,  eccellenza,"  answered  Temistocle,  edging  away 
toward  the  door.  "  Her  excellency  must  have  gone 
away  very  early,  and  she  left  her  room  open  and 
all  her  jewelry  strewed  about.  So  I  locked  the 
doors  and  brought  you  the  key." 

He  was  very  near  the  door  and  could  escape  in 
a  moment. 

But  Marcantonio  did  not  move  ;  his  jaw  dropped, 
and  his  color  changed  to  a  yellow  waxen  hue,  that 
terrified  the  servant.  But  he  did  not  move.  Temis 
tocle  continued. 

"I  told  the  servants  not  to  be  astonished,  as  you 
had  accompanied  the  Signora  Marchesa  to  the  early 
19 


290  TO  LEEWARD. 

train  for  Eome  before  daybreak,"  he  said,  putting 
his  hand  on  the  latch. 

Marcantonio  made  as  though  he  would  rise. 
Temistocle  slipped  nimbly  through  the  door  and 
closed  it  behind  him,  running  away  as  though  the 
police  were  after  him.  But  he  knew  that  when 
Carantoni  had  recovered,  he  would  be  amply  re 
warded  for  his  wisdom.  It  often  chances  that  vil 
lains  play  a  good  and  sensible  part  in  life,  for  it  is 
often  quite  as  profitable  as  villainy,  and  is  always 
safer. 

Marcantonio  struggled  to  rise,  and  at  last  got 
upon  his  feet,  staggering  like  a  man  stunned  by 
a  physical  blow.  The  door  to  Leonora's  sitting- 
room  was  open,  but,  beyond,  the  one  to  her  bed 
room  was  locked.  He  had  to  go  round  by  the 
passage,  feeling  his  way  as  though  he  were  blind. 
At  last  he  found  the  lock,  —  the  key  turned,  and 
he  entered. 

It  was  just  as  she  had  left  it.  The  white  pei 
gnoir  she  had  taken  off  when  she  dressed  for  her 
flight  lay  in  a  heap  upon  the  floor  where  she  had 
thrown  it  in  her  haste.  The  half-burned  candles 
stood  dismally  on  the  dressing-table.  The  drawer 
from  which  she  had  taken  the  handkerchiefs  was 
half  open.  The  windows  were  thrown  back,  and 
the  blinds  had  not  been  closed,  so  that  the  strong 
glare  of  the  morning  poured  rudely  in  on  the  con 
fusion,  and  the  flies  buzzed  about  the  scented  soap 
and  the  bottles  of  lavender  and  the  pot  of  carna 
tions  in  the  corner. 


TO  LEEWARD.  291 

Marcantonio  dragged  himself  from  one  part  of 
the  room  to  another  till  he  stumbled  against  the 
table  on  which  Leonora  had  left  her  scattered  jew 
elry,  —  all  the  things  he  had  given  her.  He  stood 
staring  down  at  the  glittering  gold  and  precious 
stones,  unconsciously  realizing  that  they  were  all 
his  presents  that  she  had  left  behind  her.  There 
was  a  strange  old  Maltese  cross  of  diamonds  and 
sapphires  among  them,  mounted  in  silver.  It  had 
belonged  to  his  mother,  and  he  had  given  it  to 
Leonora  with  other  things  when  he  married  her. 
His  eyes  fastened  upon  it,  and  his  hand  crept 
across  the  table  and  took  it. 

He  raised  it  to  his  white  lips  and  kissed  it  once 
—twice  ;  he  would  have  kissed  it  again,  but  the 
bow  of  his  strength  was  bent  too  far  and  snapped 
asunder.  With  a  short,  fierce  cry  he  threw  up  his 
hands,  and  fell  prostrate  on  the  smooth  tiled  floor, 
as  a  dead  man  might  have  fallen. 

He  lay  entirely  unconscious  for  hours,  so  that 
when  he  at  last  came  to  himself  and  struggled  to 
move  till  he  could  sit  up  and  stare  about  him,  the 
midday  sun  was  pouring  in,  and  the  flies  angrily 
tormented  his  ghastly  face,  as  though  in  derision 
of  anything  so  miserable.  For  some  minutes  he 
sat  upon  the  floor,  dazed  and  stupid  with  the  op 
pression  of  returning  grief,  as  well  as  stunned  from 
the  physical  pain  resulting  from  his  fall.  He  was 
not  hurt  seriously,  but  he  was  bruised  and  weak. 
At  last  he  got  to  his  feet,  steadying  himself  by  the 
table.  He  would  not  see  what  was  about  him  any 


292  TO  LEEWARD. 

more,  for  he  knew  it  all,  and  the  full  consciousness 
of  his  misfortune  was  on  him.  Pie  regained  his  own 
room,  carefully  locking  Leonora's  door  behind  him, 
and  taking  with  him  his  mother's  diamond  cross. 

But  the  mere  sense  of  grief  could  not  long  hold 
the  mastery  with  a  man  like  Marcantonio.  He  had 
loved  his  wife  too  well  not  to  resent  the  injury  and 
scorn,  as  well  as  weep  over  it.  As  he  pondered, 
lying  in  his  bed,  there  arose  in  his  breast  a  desper 
ate  and  concentrated  anger  against  the  man  who 
had  deprived  him  of  what  he  best  loved  in  the 
world,  the  anger  of  a  mind  that  has  never  reasoned 
much  about  anything,  and  will  carry  unreason  to 
any  length  when  it  comes.  He  must  find  his 
enemy ;  that  was  the  principal  thought  in  his  mind. 
That  he  would  kill  him  when  he  found  him  was  a 
proposition  that  seemed  a  matter  of  course. 

But,  in  order  to  find  him,  it  was  necessary  to 
move,  to  search,  and  turn  everything  over.  He 
turned  on  his  pillow,  feeling  the  first  restless  stir 
rings  of  the  demon  that  would  by  and  by  give  him 
no  peace  by  day  or  night  till  the  man  was  found 
and  the  blow  struck.  He  turned  over  and  rang  a 
bell  by  his  bedside. 

"  Give  me  some  coffee,  and  order  the  carriage," 
he  said  to  the  servant. 

The  first  thing  when,  at  the  end  of  an  hour,  he 
found  himself  in  the  town  was  to  inquire  for  Batis- 
combe.  It  seemed  as  though  fate  favored  Caran- 
toni  at  the  outset,  for  he  found  his  name  at  once 
on  the  register  of  the  hotel,  and  found  also  the  man 


TO  LEEWARD.  293 

who  had  waited  on  Julius.  This  servant  had  been 
told  that  a  lady  had  come  in  great  haste  soon  after 
seven  on  the  previous  evening,  and  had  stayed  more 
than  half  an  hour.  As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  Mr. 
Batiscombe  had  sent  for  his  bill  and  had  ordered 
his  boat  to  be  ready  at  eleven,  —  the  servant  had 
heard  the  order.  The  man  guessed  there  was  some 
thing  wrong  from  Marcantonio's  face,  but  Batis- 
combe's  sudden  departure  had  excited  no  remark. 
He  had  arrived  late  at  night  in  his  boat,  as  many 
people  had  done,  and  as  the  moon  was  full  it  was 
natural  enough  that  he  should  sail  away  as  he  had 
come.  People  arrive  continually  at  Sorrento  in 
yachts,  and  no  one  takes  any  notice  of  them. 

His  luggage  ?  Yes,  he  had  taken  most  of  his 
things  with  him,  except  one  large  box,  which  he 
had  ordered  to  be  sent  to  Turin.  It  had  gone  to 
Castellamare  at  once.  Mr.  Batiscombe  had  been  in 
the  hotel  before.  He  was  a  very  good  signore. 

At  this  hint  Marcantonio  gave  the  man  a  heavy 
fee.  Did  he  happen  to  know  the  address  on  the 
box?  There  was  no  address,  except  his  name. 
The  box  was  to  be  left  in  deposito  at  Turin  until 
called  for.  It  was  to  go  by  express  train,  and  Mr. 
Batiscombe  had  left  money  to  pay  for  its  carriage 
in  advance.  Mr.  Batiscombe  paid  his  bills  by 
cheques  on  a  banker  in  Borne.  Marcantonio  might 
have  the  name  if  he  pleased.  Before  leaving  he 
had  paid  his  bill  and  given  a  cheque  for  five  or  six 
hundred  francs  more.  The  proprietor  knew  him 
very  well,  and  was  always  glad  to  oblige  him,  so 


294  TO  LEEWARD.      % 

he  had  procured  a  little  cash.  Before  going  he 
had  sent  for  a  silk  merchant  —  there  are  hundreds 
in  Sorrento  —  and  had  bought  a  quantity  of  things 
of  him.  lie  had  left  the  hotel  at  eleven  by  the  steps 
to  the  sea,  and  the  servant  had  seen  him  into  his 
boat,  —  for  which  parting  civility,  Batiscombe  had 
given  him  ten  francs.  The  man  had  watched  the 
boat  for  a  few  minutes.  They  did  not  hoist  sail, 
but  rowed  away  towards  Castellamare. 

That  was  all,  absolutely  all,  that  the  man  could 
tell  Marcaiitonio.  But  it  was  sufficient  for  the 
present.  It  was  clear  that  Julius  had  taken  Le 
onora  from  the  landing  of  the  villa.  She  must 
have  slipped  out  soon  after  midnight.  The  bark 
ing  of  the  dogs  suddenly  came  back  to  Marcanto- 
nio's  memory,  and  the  scream  of  the  poor  cat.  He 
sprang  into  his  carriage,  and  drove  furiously  home 
ward. 

"  Where  are  the  dogs?"  he  asked,  as  soon  as  he 
alighted. 

The  groom  did  not  like  to  answer.  He  thought 
Marcaiitonio  would  be  angry  and  visit  their  death 
on  him.  But,  as  his  master  insisted,  he  went  away 
without  saying  a  word,  and  brought  a  large  basket. 
In  it  lay  the  two  dead  terriers  and  the  dead  kitten, 
all  three  side  by  side. 

"  The  dogs  killed  the  cat,"  said  the  man,  apolo 
getically.  "There  are  the  marks  of  their  teeth, 
eccellenza." 

"  But  the  clogs  ?  How  were  they  killed  ?  "  asked 
Marcantonio  savagely. 


TO  LEEWARD.  295 

"  Eccellenza,  their  necks  are  broken.  I  cannot 
understand  how  it  could  have  been  done.  We 
found  them  all  dead  near  the  calata,  the  descent, 
the  cat  on  the  path,  and  the  dogs  under  the  trees  a 
few  paces  away." 

Carantoni  took  up  one  of  the  terriers  in  his 
hands,  and  looked  at  it. 

"  So  you  killed  my  dogs,  did  you,  you  brute  ?  " 
he  muttered.  "  I  will  kill  you."  He  unconsciously 
used  Batiscombe's  own  words.  His  face  was  yel 
low,  and  his  eyes  bloodshot.  He  dropped  the  dead 
beast  into  the  basket. 

"  Bury  them,"  he  said  aloud,  and  turned  on  his 
heel,  going  into  the  house. 

He  had  accomplished  a  great  deal  in  a  few 
hours.  He  had  ascertained  that  they  had  fled  by 
sea ;  that  Julius  had  a  bank  account  in  Rome  with 
a  banker  whose  address  he  had  got ;  that  Julius 
had  sent  his  box  to  Turin,  where  he  would  most 
likely  be  ultimately  heard  of.  More  than  that  he 
could  not  know  for  the  present.  It  was  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon.  He  could  still  catch  the  train  to 
Rome.  He  could  do  nothing  more  in  Sorrento,  and 
he  could  no  more  remain  inactive  for  one  moment 
than  he  could  give  up  the  whole  pursuit.  While 
his  things  were  being  hastily  packed  he  thought  of 
Diana.  It  was  the  first  time,  since  the  morning, 
that  he  had  realized  that  he  was  not  absolutely 
alone  in  the  world.  He  sat  down  and  wrote  a  tel 
egram,  intending  to  send  it  from  the  station.  It 
was  brief  and  to  the  point. 


296  TO  LEEWARD.       . 

"  She  has  left  me.    Can  you  meet  me  anywhere  ? 
Answer  to  Rome." 

There  are  doubtless  people  in  the  world  who  take 
a  morbid  and  unwholesome  delight  in  the  contem 
plation  of  sorrow.  They  can  amuse  themselves  for 
many  hours  in  studying  the  effect  of  grief  upon 
their  friends,  —  and  they  can  even  find  a  curious 
diversion  in  their  own  troubles,  so  long  as  they  can 
keep  them  far  enough  away  to  secure  their  bodily 
comfort.  There  is  a  selfishness  which  is  merely  in 
difference  to  others,  and  there  is  a  selfishness  which 
feeds  on  its  own  soul,  as  the  traditional  bear  licks 
his  paws  for  nourishment.  Soul  for  breakfast,  soul 
for  dinner,  and  soul  for  supper,  —  above  all,  soul 
for  five  o'clock  tea.  It  is  very  indigestible.  The 
moral  body  languishes  on  the  diet,  and  becomes 
thin  and  emaciated  and  surly  as  a  superannuated 
wolf  in  winter.  Such  people  can  sit  for  hours  —  I 
have  seen  them  —  poring  over  an  imaginary  grief, 
which  could  be  got  out  of  the  way  in  a  moment  by 
a  single  blow.  But  it  fascinates  them,  and  they 
cannot  take  their  eyes  off  it.  They  would  not 
lose  their  troubles  —  they  would  not  spill  a  single 
drop  of  the  bitterness  they  have  cunningly  con 
cocted  for  themselves  —  for  all  the  world.  They 
are  people  who  have  got  hold  of  ^the  wrong  end  of 
life  and  like  it.  They  have  heard  a  great  deal 
about  another  set  of  people  who  "  enjoy  greatly 
and  suffer  greatly,"  —  that  is  the  stock  phrase,  - 
and  they  would  be  delighted  to  be  like  them,  but 
their  limp  vitality  is  capable  of  nothing  of  the 


TO  LEE  WARD.  297 

sort.  They  have  neither  the  strength  to  sin,  the 
honesty  to  be  good,  nor  the  common  sense  to  be 
happy.  And  so  they  feebly  paddle  in  their  shal 
low  puddles  of  woe,  neither  dry  nor  wet,  and  very 
muddy,  when  they  might  just  as  well  sit  on  the 
clean,  hard  ground  and  enjoy  the  cleanliness  and 
solidity  of  it,  if  they  can  enjoy  nothing  else.  But 
they  will  not.  They  will  lie  in  the  mud,  and  kick 
and  scream  and  swear  that  they  are  shipwrecked, 
when  they  are  a  hundred  miles  from  the  sea,  and 
would  take  to  their  heels  on  the  first  sight  of  it. 

One  of  the  favorite  hobbies  of  these  individuals 
is  a  mysterious  thing  they  call  a  "  sweet  sadness." 
Their  ideas  about  sorrow  are  not  even  artistic. 
They  might  at  least  understand  that  even  the  in- 
tensest  grief,  apart  from  its  causes,  has  no  grandeur. 
A  sad  face  is  not  of  itself  a  beautiful  object,  though 
in  the  minds  of  persons  of  much  experience  and 
heart  it  may  raise  certain  sympathies  which  belong 
to  the  highest  part  of  man's  nature,  so  that  there  is 
a  distant  reflection  of  a  sentiment  which  is  in  itself 
good,  though  painful.  The  contemplation  of  sor 
row  is  not  elevating  unless  ifc  breeds  a  strong,  desire 
to  alleviate  it ;  nor  is  the  study  of  vice  and  crime 
in  the  least  edifying  unless  it  exhibits  the  nobility 
and  power  of  purity  in  a  highly  practical  light.  No 
vicious  criminal  was  ever  reformed  by  realistic  pic 
tures  of  wickedness,  any  more  than  he  can  be  im 
proved  by  daily  association  with  other  vicious  crim 
inals.  And  a  very  little  realism  will  throw  a 
great  ideal  into  the  shade,  as  far  as  most  people  are 
concerned. 


298  TO  LEEWARD. 

Marcantonio  may  therefore  be  allowed  to  go  to 
Rome  without  being  watched  on  the  journey.  His 
bitter  suffering  had  settled  about  him  and  taken  a 
shape  and  a  complexion  of  its  own,  thinking  its  own 
thoughts  and  acting  its  own  acts,  without  reference 
to  the  real  Marcantonio,  the  easy,  cheerful,  happy 
man  of  a  few  short  weeks  ago.  It  was  no  change 
of  character  now,  but  rather  the  entire  disappear 
ance  of  the  character  beneath  the  flood  of  strong 
passions  that  had  come  from  without,  sweeping  away 
the  landmarks  and  beacons  of  all  moral  responsibil 
ity.  One  idea  had  taken  possession  of  him,  and 
destroyed  his  consciousness  of  good  and  evil,  and 
his  comprehension  of  the  common  things  of  life ; 
his  body  and  intelligence  had  become  the  mere  tools 
of  this  idea,  and  would  strain  their  strength  to  carry 
it  out  until  one  or  the  other  gave  way.  Man  is  said 
to  be  a  free  agent,  and  as  long  as  he  remembers 
the  fact,  he  is ;  but  when  he  forgets  it,  the  freedom 
is  gone. 

That  morning,  when  the  blow  first  struck  him,  he 
had  still  some  vague  thought  that  there  was  a  course 
to  follow  which  should  be  right  as  well  as  brave  and 
honorable  ;  it  was  the  fast  vanishing  outline  of  his 
former  self,  used  always  to  the  ways  of  honor ;  it 
was  vague  and  uncertain,  and  he  had  no  time  or  in 
clination  to  think  about  it,  but  it  was  present.  The 
day  wore  on,  bringing  a  fuller  realization  of  his  des 
perate  case,  and  the  possibility  of  good  in  so  much 
evil  disappeared.  When  he  was  at  last  in  the  ex 
press  train  on  his  way  to  Rome  he  was  only  con- 


TO  LEEWARD.  299 

scions  of  one  tiling — the  determination  to  find 
Julius  Batiscombe,  and  to  kill  him  ruthlessly,  be 
the  consequences  what  they  might. 

Rome  looked  much  as  usual  when  he  at  last  came 
out  of  the  great  ugly  station  upon  the  Piazza  del 
Termini.  It  was  morning,  and  not  yet  eight  o'clock, 
but  the  pitiless  August  sun  drove  its  fire  through 
everything  —  through  flesh  and  bone  and  marrow 
of  living  things,  through  the  glaring  stones  and 
dusty  trees,  and  even  the  great  jet  of  water  looked 
like  bright  melting  metal  that  would  burn  if  it 
touched  one. 

But  Marcantonio  Carantoni  was  past  feeling  heat 
or  cold  or  bodily  hurt.  He  did  not  even  remember 
that  he  had  a  servant  with  him,  and  he  mechanically 
hailed  a  cab  and  was  driven  to  his  own  house.  They 
put  a  telegram  into  his  hand ;  it  was  from  Diana, 
in  answer  to  his  of  the  day  before.  It  was  briefer 
than  his  and  breathed  authority. 

"  Have  left  Pegli.     Wait  for  me  in  Rome." 

That  was  all.  He  read  it  stupidly  over  two  or 
three  times.  He  would  not  have  telegraphed  to  her 
if  he  had  waited  till  to-day.  Some  instinct  told 
him  she  would  prevent  and  hinder  his  vengeance. 
Yesterday  he  wanted  help ;  to-day  he  wanted  noth 
ing  but  freedom  from  restraint  and  an  opportu 
nity  of  meeting  Julius  Batiscombe.  She  would 
not  aid  him  in  that,  he  was  sure. 

But  she  could  not  arrive  to-day,  —  it  was  a  long 
journey  from  Pegli  to  Rome;  he  did  not  know 
exactly  how  long  it  took,  —  his  memory  would  not 


300  TO  LEEWARD. 

serve  him  with  any  details.  He  would  have  time 
in  Rome  to  do  the  things  he  meant  to  do,  and  he 
would  go  to  Turin  that  very  night  and  watch  that 
box  of  Batiscombe's.  He  would  send  for  it,  of 
course,  wherever  he  was,  and  the  box  would  betray 
him  at  last,  if  all  other  means  failed.  But  mean 
while  there  were  the  police  —  there  were  detectives 
to  be  had,  and  plenty  of  them ;  money  would  do 
much,  and  his  high  position  would  do  more.  He 
would  set  a  whole  pack  of  sharp-scented  human 
hounds  at  Batiscombe's  heels  —  they  would  find 
him,  and  bring  word,  never  fear.  He  laughed  a 
low,  concentrated  laugh  at  the  idea  of  employing 
the  law  to  hunt  his  prey,  in  order  that  he  might  bid 
the  law  defiance  and  destroy  his  man  alone. 

He  threw  down  the  telegram  and  went  to  his 
room,  followed  closely  by  his  servant,  who  had 
arrived  in  mad  haste  in  a  second  cab,  and  believed 
his  master  was  going  to  be  insane  unless  he  had 
a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  which  seemed  not  unlikely. 
The  man  was  a  skilled  valet,  and  Marcantonio  suf 
fered  himself  to  be  dressed  and  combed  and 
smoothed,  in  perfect  silence ;  and  when  it  was  over 
he  ate  something  that  they  brought  him,  without 
the  slightest  idea  of  what  he  was  doing.  He  knew 
it  was  yet  early,  and  that  his  business  could  not  be 
done  until  the  officials  he  needed  were  in  their 
offices. 

No  sooner  had  the  clock  struck  ten,  however,, 
than  he  took  his  hat  and  left  the  house.  He  found 
a  cab,  and  had  himself  driven  from  one  office  to 


TO  LEEWARD.  301 

another  all  through  the  heat  of  the  day,  seeing  con 
fidential  detectives  and  stating  his  business  with  a 
strange  lucidity,  never  telling  any  single  agent  that 
he  was  employing  another,  but  giving  to  each  one  a 
sum  of  money  to  begin  his  search  and  to  each  the 
same  precise  statement  of  all  that  he  knew.  The 
consequence  was  that  before  the  sun  was  low  he 
had  despatched  half  a  dozen  of  the  best  men  that 
could  be  found,  and  had  got  rid  of  about  fifty  thou 
sand  francs.  Each  one  separately  might  have  to 
go  to  the  end  of  the  world  —  to  America  perhaps, 
but  most  probably  to  England  —  before  he  could 
give  the  required  information.  It  was  necessary 
that  his  men  should  be  perfectly  free  to  move  in 
any  direction.  He  himself  would  go  to  Turin,  and 
there  receive  their  telegrams,  himself  watching  that 
box  of  Batiscombe's,  which  he.  was  sure  must  some 
day  be  claimed  by  its  owner. 

He  was  perfectly  calm  and  self-possessed  through 
out  all  these  arrangements.  Only  the  strange 
ghastly  color  that  had  overspread  his  face  seemed 
to  settle  and  become  permanent,  and  his  eyes  were 
bloodshot  and  yellow,  while  his  hand  trembled 
violently  when  he  held  a  pen  or  lit  a  match  for  his 
cigarette.  But  he  felt  no  bodily  ill,  nor  any  ca 
pacity  for  fatigue.  He  had  not  closed  his  eyes  for 
thirty-six  hours,  and  had  eaten  little  enough,  but 
there  was  not  an  ache  or  a  sensation  of'  pain  in  him, 
and  he  dreaded  to  pause  or  sit  down,  hating  the 
idea  of  rest. 

When  he  had  done  all  that  he  could  think  of  as 


302  TO  LEEWARD. 

being  at  all  useful  in  his  plan,  he  went  home  and 
told  his  servant  to  prepare  for  the  journey  to  Turin 
that  night.  The  train  left  at  half  past  ten  —  there 
were  some  hours  yet  to  wait.  He  moved  restlessly 
about  the  house,  and  ordered  all  the  windows  to  be 
opened. 

The  great  rooms  were  in  their  summer  dress. 
The  furniture,  the  huge  pier  glasses,  and  the  chan 
deliers  were  all  clothed  in  brown  linen.  The 
carpets  had  all  been  taken  up,  and  the  floors  — 
some  of  marble,  some  of  red  brick,  and  some  of 
tiles  —  were  bare  and  smooth.  There  was  the  cool 
ness  and  absence  of  all  color  that  seems  to  belong 
to  great  palaces  when  the  owners  are  out  of  town, 
and  the  cold  monotony  of  everything  soothed  him 
a  little.  After  wandering  aimlessly  for  half  an 
hour,  he  settled  into  a  regular  walk,  up  and  down 
the  great  ball-room,  with  its  clear-story  windows 
and  vaulted  ceiling.  Up  and  down,  up  and  down, 
with  an  even,  untiring  tread  he  paced,  his  eyes  bent 
always  on  the  floor  and  his  hands  behind  him. 
His  walk  was  like  clockwork,  absolutely  even  and 
unchanging  with  its  rhythmic  echo  and  unvarying- 
accuracy. 

The  broad  daylight  softened  into  shadow,  and 
the  shadow  deepened  into  gloom,  but  still  he  kept 
on  his  beat  as  though  counting  his  steps  and  meas 
uring  the  time.  There  was  a  certain  relief  in  it ; 
not  from  his  mastering  thought,  that  held  him  in  a 
vise  and  never  relaxed  for  a  second,  but  from  his 
terrible  restlessness.  It  was  an  outlet  to  his  over 
wrought  activity,  and  he  did  it  monotonously,  with 


TO  LEEWARD.  303 

out  any  consideration,  because  there  was  nothing 
else  to  do,  and  it  would  have  driven  him  mad  to  sit 
still  for  five  minutes. 

As  the  night  came  on,  strange  faces  seemed  to 
look  upon  him  from  the  gathering  darkness.  The 
thick,  warm  air  took  shape  and  substance,  and  he 
could  distinguish  forms  moving  quickly  before  him 
that  he  could  not  overtake.  But  there  was  no  sen 
sation  of  horror  or  fear  with  the  sight  —  he  gazed 
curiously  at  the  fleeting  shadows  and  looked  into 
their  faces  as  they  came  close  to  him  and  retreated, 
but  he  could  not  recognize  them,  and  did  not  ask 
himself  whence  they  came  nor  whither  they  were 
going,  nor  why  he  saw  them.  It  seemed  very  nat 
ural  somehow. 

But  at  last,  as  he  turned  there  was  one  comma- 

O 

toward  him  that  had  more  substance  than  the  rest, 
so  that  they  all  vanished  but  that  one.  It  was  a 
woman,  and  she  seemed  moving  towards  him  ;  but 
it  was  almost  quite  dark.  He  came  nearer  ;  his 
waking  senses  caught  the  sound  of  her  footstep  ; 
she  was  no  shadow  —  it  was  his  wife  coming-  back 

O 

to  him  —  it  had  all  been  a  fearful  dream,  and  she 
was  there  again.  He  sprang  forward  with  a  quick 
cry. 

"  Leonora  !  Oh,  thank  God !  "  and  he  fell  for 
ward  into  her  arms. 

"  No,  dearest  brother  —  it  is  not  Leonora  — 
would  God  it  were  !  " 

Diana  had  come  already  —  he  could  not  tell  how 
—  and  they  stood  together  in  the  dark,  empty  ball 
room,  clasped  in  each  other's  arms. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THERE  are  some  people  who  seem  put  into  the 
world  by  Providence  to  stand  in  the  breach,  to  lead 
the  forlornest  of  hopes,  to  take  up  the  troubles  of 
the  world  and  bear  them  bravely,  neither  groaning 
under  the  weight  nor  making  a  reckless  jest  of  the 
burden.  They  are  the  heroes  and  the  heroines  who 
stand  alone  in  the  danger  that  others  fear,  and 
boldly  do  the  good  that  comes  in  their  way,  and 
leave  the  evil  behind.  They  are  not  always  those 
of  whom  every  one  speaks  well,  for  most  people  are 
very  far  from  being  loyal  to  those  who  have  saved 
them  ;  they  like  to  think,  and  to  demonstrate  to 
others,  that  they  could  have  saved  themselves  quite 
as  well,  if  not  better,  and  they  hate  to  measure  the 
gulf  that  divides  them  from  the  greatness  of  their 
masters.  Better  to  assume  at  once  that  they  are 
on  the  right  side  of  the  gulf  and  the  heroes  on  the 
wrong,  so  that  it  may  make  no  difference  to  their 
vanity. 

Diana  de  Charleroi  was  of  the  stuff  that  makes 
heroes,  saints,  or  martyrs,  as  the  times  will  allow. 
She  had  made  mistakes  in  her  life,  but  they  had 
been  mistakes  of  judgment,  of  too  much  enthusiasm 
for  what  she  admired  in  the  days  before  she  knew 
what  to  admire  ;  they  had  never  been  errors  of  fear 


TO  LEEWARD.  305 

or  weakness.  It  could  hardly  be  said  that  her  mar 
riage  was  a  mistake,  for  if  she  had  not  loved  Char- 
leroi  as  she  had  loved  Batiscombe,  she  yet  honored 
him,  and  was  all  that  a  Christian  wife  can  be  to 
her  husband,  which  is  saying  in  a  few  words  what 
is  best  and  noblest  to  be  said  of  any  woman. 

When  she  received  her  brother's  message  vaguely 
asking  if  she  could  meet  him  anywhere,  and  con 
veying  the  terrible  news  of  Leonora's  flight,  she 
did  not  hesitate  a  moment,  but  went  straight  to  her 
husband.  She  told  him  briefly  the  fact,  trusting 
to  him  to  say  nothing  until  all  chance  of  hiding 
the  scandal  should  be  passed;  and  she  said  she 
must  go  to  her  brother  at  once.  Charleroi  was  an 
honest  gentleman,  besides  being  extremely  clever, 
and  he  was  very  fond  of  her.  He  saw  the  position 
at  once ;  he  understood  that  a  man  like  Marc- 
antonio  would  very  likely  go  out  of  his  mind  under 
such  a  trial,  and  that  Diana  alone  could  save  him. 
He  bestirred  himself,  and  in  an  hour  he  was  seated 
by  her  side  in  a  carriage  which  would  catch  the 
express  at  Genoa.  He  was  a  man  for  quick  emer 
gencies,  of  complete  savoir  faire  and  entire  self- 
possession,  and  if  his  intellect  had  been  more 
profound  and  less  brilliant  he  might  have  turned 
out  a  great  general  instead  of  a  tolerably  good  di 
plomatist.  He  insisted  on  accompanying  Diana  to 
Genoa,  where  they  caught  the  train,  as  he  had  ex 
pected,  and  he  would  have  gone  with  her  to  Rome 
if  she  would  have  allowed  him.  But  she  sent  him 
back  to  take  care  of  the  children,  who  could  not  be 

20 


306  TO  LEEWARD. 

left  alone,  even  under  the  charge  of  a  whole  battalion 
of  nurses  and  governesses,  and  he  stood  bareheaded 
011  the  platform  of  the  gloomy  station  at  Genoa  as 
she  moved  away  in  her  through-carriage  out  into 
the  early  morning  light.  She  kissed  her  hand  to 
him  affectionately,  and  was  heartily  grateful  for 
his  quickness  and  skill  as  well  as  for  his  devotion. 
His  last  words  were  a  friendly  message  to  Marc- 
antonio  to  the  effect  that,  in  case  of  a  "  meeting," 
he  might  rely  on  him  to  come  at  a  moment's  notice 
from  any  part  of  Europe. 

She  arrived  in  Rome  at  dark,  got  into  a  cab  with 
her  maid  and  luggage,  and  reached  the  Carantoni 
palace  while  Marcantonio  was  still  pacing  the  ball 
room,  just  in  time  to  prevent  his  leaving  for  Turin. 
She  had  found  ample  time  to  think  over  the  situa 
tion  during  the  journey,  and  she  was  prepared  for 
difficulties.  Her  brother  would  hardly  be  in  his 
right  mind,  she  thought,  and  would  certainly  be  on 
the  verge  of  doing  something  desperate,  which  she 
must  prevent. 

As  was  usual  with  her  in  sudden  emergencies,  sho 
had  been  wonderfully  quiet.  She  was  shocked  and 
horrified  at  the  news,  but  neither  the  shock  nor  the 
horror  were  uppermost  in  her  mind.  What  she 
most  felt  was  an  unutterable  and  loving  pity  for 
her  brother ;  and  as  she  sat  in  the  express  train 
and  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  interminable 
miles  of  vineyard  and  cornland,  the  kind,  womanly 
tears  gathered  and  fell  softly.  She  could  not  help 
it,  and  she  would  not.  Poor  fellow!  he  deserved 


TO   LEEWARD.  307 

all  her  heart,  and  her  soul's  sympathy,  and  the  tears 
thereof. 

Marcantonio  was  in  no  state  to  reason  or  to  be 
reasoned  with.  He  had  had  a  strange  illusion  for 
a  moment,  when  he  thought  his  wife  had  returned 
to  him,  but  he  at  once  realized  his  folly  and  under 
stood  that  Diana  had  come  to  meet  him  —  had 
come,  doubtless,  to  prevent  him  from  accomplish 
ing  his  vengeance.  He  had  been  so  sure  that  she 
would  not  arrive  until  the  next  morning  that  he 
had  anticipated  no  interruption  in  his  plans,  and 
he  was  angry  with  her  for  being  in  his  way.  She 
would  watch  him  day  and  night,  and  hinder  all  his 
movements.  So  long  as  she  was  with  him  it  would 
be  impossible  to  do  anything.  He  answered  her 
very  coldly. 

44  You  have  come  already  ?  I  did  not  expect  you 
so  soon."  They  moved  towards  the  door,  groping 
in  the  deep  gloom,  and  presently  reached  a  room 
where  there  were  lights.  Then  Diana  saw  her 
brother's  face  and  understood  that  he  was  mad  or 
desperately  ill,  or  both.  The  ghastly  color,  the 
bloodshot  eyes,  the  trembling  hand,  she  saw  it  all. 
She  had  not  known  what  change  his  trouble  would 
make  in  him^  but  she  knew  it  would  be  great.  But 
she  was  startled  now  that  she  was  face  to  face  with 
him.  It  seemed  too  terribly  real.  She  could  not 
help  it,  she  bent  her  beautiful  fair  head  on  his 
sjioulder  and  threw  her  arms  about  him  and  sobbed 
aloud. 

But  Marcantonio  only  understood  that  she  was 


308  TO  LEEWARD. 

there  to  keep  him  from  his  ends,  from  the  one 
thing  in  the  world  that  he  wanted  to  do,  and  meant 
to  do,  and  surely  would  accomplish.  As  she  leaned 
on  him  and  shed  those  bitter  tears  for  him,  he  stood 
passive  and  dry-eyed,  staring  vacantly  above  her  at 
the  wall,  and  his  hands  hung  by  his  side,  not  offer 
ing  to  support  her  or  to  comfort  her.  He  only 
wished  she  were  gone  again  and  had  never  come  to 
trouble  him. 

It  was  only  for  a  moment.  Such  outbursts  of 
feeling  were  rare  with  Diana ;  people  said  she  was 
a  piece  of  ice,  heartless,  and  without  sympathy  for 
any  human  being.  They  judged  her  by  her  face 
and  by  the  supreme  dignity  of  her  manner,  not 
knowing  of  the  things  she  had  done  in  her  life 
that  were  neither  heartless  nor  cold.  But  no\y  she 
recovered  herself  quickly  and  dried  her  eyes,  and 
made  Marcantonio  sit  down.  She  looked  at  him 
intently  as  though  trying  to  understand  him.  He 
had  never  met  her  so  coldly  before  in  his  life ; 
there  must  be  a  reason  for  it,  —  he  was  evidently 
beside  himself  with  suffering,  but  his  temporary 
madness  would  hardly  take  the  form  of  a  sudden 
dislike  for  herself  unless  there  were  some  cause. 

"  You  did  not  expect  me  so  soon,"  she  said, 
speaking  very  gently.  "  It  was  a  mere  chance  that 
I  managed  it." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Marcantonio  in  a  mo 
notonous  voice  that  had  no  life  in  it,  and  seemed 
not  his  own.  "  If  you  had  waited  a  little  while  I 
could  have  saved  you  the  journey." 


TO  LEEWARD.  309 

"  The  journey  is  nothing,"  said  she.  "  I  am  not 
tired  at  all,  and  I  would  come  across  the  world  to 
be  with  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Marcantonio,  "  I  know  you  would. 
It  would  have  been  better  if  we  had  met  further 
on." 

"  Further  on  ?  "  she  repeated,  hoping  he  would 
give  her  some  clue  to  his  intentions.  The  old 
habit  of  confidence  was  too  strong  for  him ;  he 
wished  her  away,  but  he  could  not  help  speaking 
and  telling  her  something.  He  had  never  con 
cealed  anything  from  her. 

"In  Turin,"  he  answered  briefly. 

"Ah,  —  is  he  there  ?  "  asked  Diana  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  He  sent  his  box  there,  —  he  will  go  and 
get  it." 

"And  then?" 

"  And  then,"  said  Marcantonio,  the  sullen  fire 
burning  in  his  reddened  eyes,  "  we  shall  meet." 

Diana  was  silent  for  a  moment,  determining  what 
to  do.  All  this  she  had  expected,  but  she  had  not 
thought  to  find  her  brother  so  changed. 

"  Tell  me,  Marcantonio  mio"  she  said  earnestly, 
"  did  you  think  I  would  prevent  your  meeting 
him  ? "  He  hesitated.  She  took  his  hand  and 
looked  into  his  face  as  though  urging  him  to  an 
swer. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

Diana  understood.  This  was  the  reason  of  his 
evident  annoyance  at  her  coming.  He  thought 


310  TO  LEEWARD. 

she  meant  to  prevent  him  from  fighting  Batis- 
combe. 

"  You  know  better  than  that,"  she  said  gravely. 
Marcantonio  turned  upon  her  quickly  with  an  an 
gry  look. 

"  You  prevented  me  before,"  he  said.  "  If  I 
had  shot  him  then,  this  trouble  would  not  have 
come.  You  know  it,  —  why  do  you  look  at  me 
like  that  ?  " 

"  If  you  had  shot  him  before,"  said  she,  "  this 
would  not  have  happened.  But  if  he  had  shot 
you,  —  that  was  possible,  was  it  not  ?  —  you  gained 
nothing.  If  neither  of  you  had  killed  the  other, 
there  would  have  been  a  useless  scandal.  The  case 
is  different." 

If  she  had  found  her  brother  overcome  with  his 
sorrow  and  abandoned  to  the  suffering  it  brought, 
sensitive  and  shrinking  from  all  allusion  to  his 
shame,  she  would  have  acted  very  differently.  But 
she  found  him  possessed  of  but  one  idea,  how  to 
kill  Julius  Batiscombe ;  he  was  hard  as  the  nether 
millstone  and  unyielding  ;  he  seemed  to  have  for 
gotten  the  wife  he  had  loved  so  well,  in  the  longing 
to  destroy  the  man  who  had  stolen  her  away.  She 
felt  no  hesitation  in  speaking  plainly  of  the  matter 
in  hand,  since  his  feelings  needed  no  sparing.  But 
her  sympathy  was  so  large  and  honest  that  she  did 
not  feel  hurt  herself  because  he  was  cold  to  her; 
she  understood  that  he  was  scarcely  in  his  right 
mind,  and  she  could  make  all  allowance  for  him. 
Few  men  could  have  done  as  much.  Few  men 


TO  LEEWARD.  311 

can  ever  really  conquer  their  vanity  —  much  less 
forget  it. 

Marcantonio  did  not  answer  at  once.  But  her 
influence  on  him,  as  she  sat  there,  was  soothing, 
and  he  was  gradually  yielding  under  it  —  not  in 
the  least  abandoning  his  one  idea,  but  feeling  that 
she  might  not  hinder  its  execution  after  all. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  asked  suddenly,  "  that 
you  will  not  try  to  prevent  my  meeting  with  him?  " 
He  turned  and  looked  into  her  eyes,  that  met  his 
honestly  and  fearlessly. 

"  Assuredly  I  will  not  prevent  you,"  said  she. 

"Really  and  truly?" 

"  So  truly  that  if  I  thought  you  had  meant  to 
leave  him  alone,  I  would  have  tried  to  make  you 
fight  him."  She  spoke  proudly,  in  the  pride  of  a 
brave  race. 

Marcantonio  laughed  scornfully,  in  a  way  that 
was  bad  to  hear.  The  idea  had  never  struck  him 
that  he  could  possibly  have  not  wanted  to  fight. 
But  in  a  moment  he  was  grave  again. 

"  What  a  woman  you  are,  Diana !  "  he  exclaimed. 
It  sounded  more  like  himself  than  anything  he  had 
said  yet,  and  Diana  was  encouraged.  But  she  said 
nothing. 

In  her  simple  code,  fighting  was  a  necessary  thing 
in  the  world.  She  had  been  brought  up  among  peo 
ple  who  fought  duels  under  provocation,  and  it  never 
entered  her  head  that  under  certain  circumstances 
there  was  anything  else  to  be  done.  Women  often 
scream  with  terror  at  the  mention  of  such  a  thing, 


312  TO  LEEWARD. 

but  very  few  of  them  will  have  anything  to  do  with 
men  who  will  not  fight  when  they  are  insulted.  In 
preventing  a  challenge  after  the  affair  at  Sorrento 
she  had  done  violence  to  her  feelings  for  the  sake 
of  Leonora's  reputation.  In  the  present  instance 
that  was  no  longer  at  stake.  It  was  perfectly  clear 
that  her  brother  must  have  satisfaction  from  his 
enemy,  as  soon  as  might  be.  There  was  no  concili 
ation  possible.  In  her  view  it  was  honor  or  infamy 
for  Marcantonio  forever — no  less.  She  had  heard 
of  cases  where  the  husband  had  simply  ignored  the 
whole  matter,  had  laughed  cynically  and  had  said 
he  would  not  risk  his  life  for  a  woman  who  did  not 
care  enough  for  him  to  stay  with  him.  But  the 
woman  was  his  wife,  after  all,  whether  she  loved 
him  or  not,  and  Diana  heartily  despised  a  man  who 
could  act  in  that  way. 

Duelling  may  be  a  conventional  thing,  but  so  is 
the  "  honor  "  of  society  at  large.  It  is  a  patchwork 
affair  altogether,  and  some  of  the  pieces  are  clean 
and  some  are  exceedingly  dirty ;  nevertheless  it  is 
hung  bravely  up  for  a  curtain,  and  it  covers  a  great 
many  more  sins  than  charity  ever  did.  Everybody 
knows  the  sins  are  there,  and  everybody  wants  to 
have  them  hidden,  bringing  his  or  her  little  patch 
to  make  the  curtain  broader.  Some  help  to  enlarge 
it  and  keep  it  whole  because  they  do  not  want  to 
see  what  is  behind,  and  think  that  no  one  else 
should,  hoping  that  the  day  may  come  when  there 
will  be  nothing  to  conceal ;  meanwhile  they  bring 
great  broad  pieces  of  clean  stuff  that  go  a  long 


TO  LEEWARD.  •  313 

way.  Others  come,  who  have  more  or  less  property 
concealed  behind  the  curtain,  which  they  would  not 
have  any  one  see  for  the  world,  and  the  dirty  little 
rags  they  bring  are  sewn  in,  side  by  side  with  the 
spotless  cloth ;  and  so  everything  helps,  and  from 
a  distance  the  curtain  looks  well  enough.  Only,  if 
any  one  wants  to  see  what  it  covers,  it  is  the  sim 
plest  thing  in  the  world  to  go  round  to  one  side  and 
lift  it  —  for  it  is  not  so  very  broad  after  all. 

In  some  countries  people  find  it  a  great  nuisance 
to  keep  the  curtain  in  order,  and  they  agree  to  dis 
pense  with  it  altogether,  promising  each  other  not 
to  look  that  way.  And  then,  the  moment  any  one 
thinks  he  is  not  observed  he  steals  a  glance  at  the 
forbidden  sight.  But  if  two  happen  to  look  at  the 
same  time,  and  catch  each  other  at  it,  they  call  each 
other  liars  and  blackguards  'for  the  edification  of 
the  rest.  It  is  a  very  good  arrangement,  and  costs 
no  trouble  when  you  are  used  to  it. 

As  for  fighting  and  not  fighting,  in  countries 
where  it  is  the  custom,  there  are  always  some  indi 
viduals  who  refuse  on  moral  grounds.  They  say  it 
is  not  right,  and  they  will  not  do  it.  The  "  right " 
they  do  in  refusing  to  meet  people  they  have  in 
jured  is  frequently  remarkable  in  their  lives  for  its 
solitary  singularity  rather  than  for  its  importance. 

Donna  Diana  had  never  hesitated,  therefore,  in 
her  view  of  Marcantonio's  situation,  and  when  he 
put  the  question  to  her  she  answered  it  boldly  and 
naturally.  But,  somehow,  he  had  not  understood 
his  sister  before,  though  he  had  yielded  to  her,  and 


314  TO  LEEWARD. 

he  was  astonished  at  her  readiness  to  agree  with 
him.  He  looked  at  her  with  a  sort  of  admiration^ 
and  his  feeling  towards  her  changed. 

"  Then  you  will  help  me  to  find  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  will  stay  with  you  until  you  do,"  she  an 
swered. 

"  It  is  the  same  thing,"  said  he.  "  Will  you 
come  to  Turin  with  me  at  once  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  leave  you,"  she  said.  "  "We  can  go 
to  Turin  to-morrow,  if  you  like." 

"No  —  to-night,"  he  said,  quickly.  The  idea  of 
wasting  twelve  hours  seemed  intolerable. 

But  Diana  had  made  up  her  mind  that  he  must 
rest  awhile  before  doing  anything  more.  She 
shuddered  when  she  looked  at  his  face  and  saw  the 
dreadful  changes  wrought  in  six  and  thirty  hours. 

"  If  we  start  now,"  she  said,  "  we  shall  arrive 
in  the  evening.  You  could  do  nothing  at  night. 
Rest  until  the  morning,  and  then  we  will  go.  You 
will  need  all  the  strength  you  have." 

"  I  cannot  rest,"  he  said  gloomily. 

"  You  must  try,"  answered  Diana.  "  I  will  read 
to  you  till  you  are  asleep." 

He  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  room.  The  doubt 
that  she  intended  to  keep  him  back  sprang  up 
again  in  his  unsettled  mind.  He  stopped  before  her. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  will  go  to-night,  and  you  need 
not  come  if  you  are  too  tired.  You  want  to  pre 
vent  me  from  going  at  all  —  I  see  it  in  your  face." 

Diana  looked  up  into  his  face  as  she  sat.  No 
one  but  a  madman  could  have  doubted  the  faith  of 


TO  LEEWARD.  315 

those  gray  eyes  of  hers,  and  as  Mareantonio  gazed 
on  them  the  old  influence  of  the  stronger  character 
began  to  act.  He  turned  away  impatiently. 

"  You  always  make  me  do  what  you  like,"  he 
said,  and  began  to  walk  again. 

Diana  forced  herself  to  laugh  a  little. 

"  Do  not  be  so  foolish,  clear  boy,"  she  said.  "  I 
want  you  to  sleep  to-night,  and  to-morrow  we  will 
go  to  the  world's  end  together.  You  will  lose 
twelve  hours  somewhere,  because  there  are  certain 
things  that  cannot  be  done  at  night.  Better  make 
use  of  them  now,  and  sleep,  before  you  are  alto 
gether  exhausted.  I  promise  to  go  with  you  to 
morrow.  Do  you  mean  to  have  an  illness,  or  to  go 
out  of  your  mind?  You  will  accomplish  one  or 
the  other  in  this  way,  and  there  will  be  an  end  of 
the  whole  matter." 

" Ebbene"  said  Mareantonio,  unable  to  resist 
her  will,  "  since  you  promise  it  to  me  I  will  do  as 
you  please.  But  to-morrow  morning  I  will  start, 
whatever  happens." 

"Very  well,"  said  Diana.  "And  now,  dear 
brother,  will  you  kindly  give  me  some  dinner  ?  I 
have  scarcely  had  anything  to-day." 

"  Dio  mio  !  "  cried  Mareantonio,  "  what  a  brute 
I  am  !  "  It  was  like  him,  she  thought,  to  be  angry 
at  himself  for  having  forgotten  to  be  hospitable. 
The  words  assured  her,  for  they  sounded  natural. 
There  had  been  moments  during  the  conversation 
when  she  had  thought  he  was  insane.  Perhaps  it 
was  more  his  looks  than  his  words,  however.  At 


316  TO  LEEWARD. 

all  events,  as  he  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  what 
was  necessary,  she  felt  as  though  he  were  already 
better. 

One  of  her  reasons  for  wishing  him  to  stay  a 
night  in  Rome  was  that  he  might  immediately  have 
a  chance  of  growing  calmer.  Nothing  distances 
grief  like  sleep.  Until  the  first  impression  had 
become  less  vivid  in  his  mind,  she  could  not  ask 
him  questions  about  the  circumstances  of  the  flight. 
She  guessed  that,  although  he  was  willing,  and 
even  anxious,  to  talk  of  his  future  meeting  with 
Batiscombe,  it  would  be  quite  another  thing  to 
make  him  speak  of  the  past  fact.  And  yet  she 
knew  nothing  of  the  details  —  not  even  exactly  the 
time  when  it  all  happened.  She  half  fancied  that 
they  must  have  got  away  by  the  sea,  because  it 
would  have  been  so  simple ;  but  she  had  no  idea  of 
how  much  Marcantonio  knew,  nor  whether  the 
matter  had  yet  in  any  way  become  public  property. 
It  was  necessary,  she  judged,  that  she  should  know 
something,  at  least,  of  the  circumstances.  No  one 
but  Marcantonio  could  tell  her,  and  before  he 
could  be  brought  to  speak  he  must  be  saved  from 
the  danger  of  a  physical  illness  which  seemed  to 
threaten  him. 

Before  long  dinner  was  ready.  It  was  ten  o'clock, 
and  the  meal  had  been  prepared  for  Marcantonio 
at  eight ;  but  he  had  behaved  so  strangely  that  no 
one  liked  to  go  near  him,  and  the  servants  supposed 
that  if  he  wanted  anything  he  would  ring  the  bell. 

The  two  sat  down  opposite  each  other.     Diana 


TO  LEEWARD.  317 

was  tired  and  hungry ;  she  had  taken  off  her  bon 
net  on  arriving,  and  had  gone  straight  to  Marcan- 
tonio,  and  now  she  would  not  leave  him  until  she 
had  seen  him  safe  in  his  room  for  the  night.  But 
in  spite  of  the  long  journey,  the  fatigue,  and  the 
great  anxiety,  she  was  the  same,  as  queenly  and 
unruffled  as  ever,  as  smoothly  and  perfectly  dressed, 
as  quiet  and  stately  in  her  ways.  No  wonder  she 
was  the  envy  of  half  the  women  in  Europe.  The 
half  who  did  not  envy  her  were  those  who  had  never 
seen  her. 

She  watched  Marcantonio  as  she  sat  opposite  to 
him.  It  surprised  her  to  see  that  he  ate  well,  — 
more  than  usual,  in  fact,  and  she  attributed  it  to 
a  sudden  improvement  which  had  perhaps  been 
brought  about  by  her  arrival.  She  had  expected 
that  he  would  refuse  to  eat  anything,  and  would 
support  his  strength  on  strong  coffee  and  tobacco. 
She  thought  that  at  all  events  he  would  not  be  ill, 
—  but,  again,  as  she  looked  at  his  face  its  death 
like  yellowness  frightened  her,  and  the  injected 
veins  of  his  eyeballs  made  his  eyes  look  absolutely 
red. 

They  hardly  spoke  during  -the  meal,  for  the  ser 
vants  came  and  went  often,  and  they  could  not  speak 
any  language  together  that  would  not  be  understood. 
Talking  French  before  servants  is  a  snare,  they  al 
ways  understand  ;  or  else,  —  like  the  solitary  stu 
dent  who  understood  Hegel,  and  who  only  misun 
derstood  him,  after  all,  —  they  make  a  point  of 
interpreting  their  master's  sayings  crookedly. 


318  TO  LEEWARD. 

After  a  time  they  were  left  alone,  and  they  pre 
pared  to  part  for  the  night.  Diana  laid  her  hand 
affectionately  on  her  brother's  forehead,  as  though 
to  feel  whether  it  were  hot.  He  looked  so  ill  that 
it  hurt  her  to  see  him. 

"  You  are  worn  out,  dear  boy,"  said  she.  "  Go 
to  bed  and  sleep." 

"  I  will  try,"  he  said,  rather  submissively  than 
otherwise.  "  But  we  will  go  to-morrow,  of  course," 
he  added  quickly,  turning  to  her  with  a  half-star 
tled  look. 

"  Of  course,"  said  she,  reassuring  him. 
"Because,"  he  said,  "I  told  the  detectives  to  tel 
egraph  to  me  there,  and  I  gave  them  my  address 
at  the  hotel." 

"  Detectives  ?  "  repeated  Diana,  starting  a  little 
and  looking  surprised.  "  What  do  you  want  them 
for  ?  " 

"Jftavolof"  ejaculated  Marcantonio  savagely, 
"  to  find  him,  to  be  sure." 

"  Batiscombe  is  not  the  man  to  run  away,  or  to 
need  much  finding,"  said  Diana,  gravely,  with  an 
air  of  conviction.  She  did  not  like  the  idea. 

"  When  men  mean  to  be  found  they  leave  an 
address,"  said  her  brother,  between  his  teeth. 

There  was  truth  in  what  he  said.  Batiscombe 
ought  to  have  let  Marcantonio  know  his  where 
abouts,  it  was  the  least  a  brave  man  could  do,  and 
Batiscombe  was  undeniably  brave.  Diana  felt  a 
sharp  sense  of  pain ;  the  idea  that  her  brother  was 
hunting  down  with  detectives,  like  a  common  male- 


TO   LEEWARD,  319 

factor,  the  man  who  had  once  loved  her  so  well ; 
the  idea  that  she  was  helping  to  find  him  in  order 
that  Marcantonio  might  kill  him  if  he  could,  it  was 
frightful  to  her.  She  was  bitterly  atoning  for  one 
innocent  girlish  fancy  of  long  ago. 

"Marcantonio,"  she  said,  almost  entreatingly, 
"  do  not  do  it.  Give  up  the  police.  I  am  sure  he 
will  meet  you  without  that  "  — 

"  Ah  yes  !  "  he  interrupted,  "  you  know  him. 
Of  course  you  will  not  help  me  !  I  forgot  that  you 
were  come  to  shield  him,  —  you  —  I  know  you  will 
not  help  me  !  "  He  spoke  fiercely  and  brutally,  as 
he  had  never  spoken  to  her  before. 

But  mad  or  not  mad,  Diana  would  not  submit  to 
such  words  from  any  one.  She  turned  white  to  the 
lips,  and  faced  him  in  the  light  of  the  two  great 
lamps  that  burned  on  the  table.  The  whole  power 
and  splendid  force  of  her  nature  gleamed  in  her 
eyes,  and  thrilled  in  the  low,  distinct  tones  of  her 
voice. 

"  What  you  say  is  utterly  base,  and  ignoble,  and 
untrue,"  she  said  slowly. 

He  hung  his  head,  for  he  knew  he  was  wrong. 
He  did  not  know  what  he  said  ;  indeed  he  had 
hardly  known  what  he  was  doing  all  that  day. 

"I  am  sorry,  Diana,"  he  said,  at  last,  quite 
humbly.  "  I  am  not  myself  to-day." 

Her  anger  melted  away  instantly.  Himself ! 
No  indeed,  poor  fellow,  he  was  not  himself,  and 
perhaps  never  would  be  his  old  self  again.  He 
was  so  utterly  wretched  as  he  stood  there  before 


320  TO   LEEWARD. 

her  with  his  head  bent  and  his  hands  clasped  to 
gether,  so  forlorn  and  forsaken  and  pitiful  the  mo 
ment  the  sustaining  force  of  his  anger  left  him, 
that  no  human  creature  could  have  seen  him  with 
out  giving  him  all  sympathy  and  comfort.  Diana 
went  close  to  him  and  put  her  arms  about  him,  and 
kissed  him,  and  her  tears  wet  his  cheek.  He  suf 
fered  her  to  lead  him  quietly  away  to  his  rooms, 
and  she  left  him  in  the  care  of  his  faithful  old 
servant. 

"  The  signore  is  ill,"  she  said.  "  Some  one  must 
watch  in  the  outer  room  all  night,  in  case  he  wants 
anything. 

Diana  herself  was  exhausted,  in  spite  of  her 
strength  and  extraordinary  nerve.  There  were 
times  when  she  broke  down,  as  she  had  done  at 
Sorrento  when  she  heard  Julius  and  Leonora  out 
side  her  window,  but  it  was  always  after  the  strug 
gle  was  over,  when  she  was  alone.  Moreover  she 
had  had  the  advantage  of  years  of  a  perfectly  se 
rene  life,  during  which  no  serious  trouble  had  come 
near  her,  and  her  strength  had  increased  with  her 
maturity.  It  all  stood  her  in  good  stead  now,  and 
helped  her  to  bear  all  she  had  to  suffer.  She  went 
to  bed  and  slept  a  dreamless  sleep  that  completely 
restored  her.  It  is  the  privilege  of  very  calm  and 
evenly  balanced  natures  to  take  rest  when  it  can 
be  had,  and  to  bear  wakefulness  and  fatigue  bet 
ter  in  the  long  run  than  extremely  active  and  phys 
ically  energetic  people. 

As  for  Marcantonio,  he  tossed  upon  his  bed  and 


TO  LEEWARD.  321 

dreamed  broken  dreams  that  woke  him  again  and 
again  with  a  sudden  start ;  he  dreamed  he  had 
found  his  man,  and  the  excitement  of  the  moment 
waked  him.  Then  he  dreamed  he  was  quarrelling 
with  his  sister,  and  was  suddenly  wide  awake  at  the 
sound  of  her  reproachful  voice.  He  was  talking 
to  Leonora,  pleading  with  her,  and  using  all  his 
eloquence  to  win  her  back,  and  she  laughed  scorn 
fully  at  him  —  and  that  waked  him  too. 

But  at  last  he  slept  soundly  for  an  hour  or  two, 
just  before  daybreak,  and  awoke  feeling  tired,  but 
more  restful.  The  dawn  came  stealing  through 
the  windows,  and  he  got  up  and  moved  about  a 
little,  with  a  sensation  of  enjoyment  in  the  cool, 
fresh  air. 

He  looked  into  the  glass,  and  started  at  his  own 
face  that  he  saw  reflected  there.  It  seemed  like  a 
hideous  mask  of  himself,  all  drawn  and  distorted 
and  pale.  But  had  he  looked  at  himself  on  the 
previous  day  he  would  have  seen  an  improvement 
now.  He  was  deadly  pale,  but  no  longer  yellow, 
and  his  eyes  had  lost  the  redness  that  had  fright 
ened  his  sister.  He  looked  ill,  but  not  crazy,  and 
he  felt  that  he  could  trust  himself  to-day  not  to  say 
the  things  he  had  said  yesterday. 

He  would  go  to  Turin  of  course  —  that  was  set 
tled  —  unless  Diana  was  too  tired ;  but  he  would 
not  have  admitted  such  a  condition  when  he  went 
to  bed  the  night  before. 

He  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  his  things  to  be 
got  ready.  The  old  servant,  who  had  slept  on  a 

21 


322  TO  LEEWARD. 

sofa  outside,  looked  haggard  and  unshaved,  and 
stared  suspiciously  as  he  heard  the  order.  But  he 
did  not  dare  to  make  any  remarks,  as  he  would 
have  done  if  his  master  had  been  well.  Marcan- 
tonio  had  been  ill  once  before,  when  he  was  a  boy 
of  fifteen,  and  had  on  that  occasion,  when  he  was 
delirious,  shown  a  remarkable  tendency  to  throw 
everything  within  reach  at  the  people  about  him 
when  he  did  not  instantly  get  what  he  wanted. 
The  old  man  remembered  the  fact,  and  was  silently 
obedient,  for  the  Signer  Marchese  looked  as  though 
he  were  ill  again.  The  mildest  people  are  often 
the  most  furious  in  the  delirium  of  a  fever. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

AFTER  all,  Julius  was  not  quite  certain  whether 
Leonora  had  fainted,  or  was  asleep.  She  had  been 
comfortably  settled  in  the  boat  at  the  first,  and  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  had  passed  in  hoisting  and  trim 
ming  the  sails,  and  bringing  the  craft  before  the 
wind.  She  might  have  fallen  asleep  from  sheer  fa 
tigue  and  weariness,  —  Julius  could  not  tell.  He 
bent  far  down  over  the  stern,  and  fetched  up  a  few 
drops  of  water  from  the  sea  with  one  hand,  while  the 
other  supported  Leonora's  drooping  head,  —  the  til 
ler  could  take  care  of  itself  for  a  moment,  —  and 
he  sprinkled  her  face  softly  and  watched  her ;  again 
—  and  she  opened  her  eyes  as  from  a  pleasant 
dream,  and  looking  up  to  his  she  smiled,  and  closed 
them  again.  He  bent  down  and  spoke  almost  in  a 
whisper. 

"  Darling,  are  you  quite  comfortable  ?  "  She 
moved  her  head  in  assent,  the  quiet  smile  still  play 
ing  on  her  lips.  Then  she  lay  quite  still  for  a 
while,  and  listened  to  the  rush  of  the  water,  and 
the  occasional  dull,  wooden  sound  as  the  rudder 
moved  a  little  on  its  hinges.  The  boat  rolled  softly 
from  side  to  side,  in  a  long,  easy  motion  and  glided 
swiftly  down  the  bay. 

Presently  Leonora  moved,   sat  up,  and  looked 


324  TO  LEEWARD.      » 

about  her,  at  the  sea,  and  the  land,  and  the  fiery- 
crested  mountain. 

"  Where  are  we  going,  Julius  ?  "  she  asked,  with 
a  smile  at  the  question. 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  laughing. 
"  There  are  lots  of  places  we  can  go  to.  Ischia, 
Capri,  —  Naples  if  you  like.  Select,  dearest,  there 
is  a  good  boat  between  us  and  the  water,  and  we 
have  the  world  before  us." 

"  But  we  must  go  somewhere  where  we  can  get 
some  breakfast,"  said  she  gravely.  "  And  where  I 
can  buy  things,"  she  added  laughing  again.  "  Do 
you  know  that  this  is  all  I  have  got  in  the  world  to 
wear  ?  " 

"  That  is  serious  indeed,"  said  Julius.  "  There 
are  provisions  and  things  to  drink  in  the  boat,  but 
there  is  no  millinery.  We  had  better  go  to  Naples." 

"  I  think  I  could  manage  for  one  day,"  said  Leo 
nora,  doubtfully.  "  I  have  brought  heaps  of  hand 
kerchiefs,  and  hairpins,  and  cologne  water,  —  they 
are  all  in  the  bag." 

"  Handkerchiefs  and  hairpins !  "  repeated  Julius, 
and  laughed  at  the  idea.  A  woman  leaves  her  hus 
band,  who  worships  her,  scatters  trouble  and  tears 
and  madness  broadcast,  and  she  thinks  of  handker 
chiefs  and  hairpins,  and  remembers  where  she  has 
put  them. 

"  Yes,"  said  Leonora,  "  they  will  be  very  useful. 
We  could  go  to  Ischia  first,  and  to  Naples  to-mor 
row  night,  —  or  rather  to-night,  I  should  say.  That 
is,  —  if  you  think  "  — 


TO  LEEWARD.  325 

"What,  dear?"  asked  Julius. 

"  If  you  think  it  is  quite  —  far  enough." 

"  We  cannot  go  very  far.  It  is  six  or  seven 
hours  from  here  to  Ischia,  if  the  wind  holds.  We 
should  be  there  between  six  and  seven  o'clock." 

"  I  think  that  would  be  best,"  said  Leonora  in 
a  tone  of  decision.  She  was  silent  for  a  moment. 
Presently  she  looked  up  into  Batiscombe's  face, 
and  her  own  was  white  and  beautiful  in  the  moon 
light.  "  I  wonder,"  she  said,  "  whether  any  one 
heard  that  noise  the  dogs  made  ?  Oh,  the  poor, 
poor  kitten,  —  it  makes  me  quite  cry  to  think  of 
her!" 

Yes,  my  lady  Leonora,  —  cry  for  the  cat  by  all 
means,  —  it  was  very  pathetic  in  its  last  moments. 
But  on  no  account  shed  a  tear  for  your  husband, 
or  for  anything  he  may  suffer,  —  the  moonlight  is 
far  too,  too,  delightfully,  exquisitely  pretty  to  think 
of  such  unpleasant  subjects. 

"  Poor  thing !  "  said  Julius  sympathetically. 
"  But  its  ghost  will  not  haunt  the  gardens,  for  it 
was  amply  avenged." 

"  Yes  indeed !  "  said  Leonora.  "  Oh,  Julius,  you 
are  so  strong,  —  I  like  you." 

Precisely,  madam ;  your  husband  never  strangled 
any  terriers  for  you.  It  was  a  great  mistake  on 
his  part.  He  did  not  know  how  much  you  liked  it. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Julius,  "  you  are  awfully  good 
to  like  me."  He  laughed,  but  his  hand  caressed 
her  hair  tenderly,  and  Leonora  was  happy. 

"  It  was  just  like  us,"  said  she,  "  to  stop  there 


326  TO  LEEWARD,    * 

at  the  top  of  the  steps  where  we  might  have  been 

seen  in  a  moment  —  but  I  am  glad.     I  hated  those 

dogs." 

"  It  was  just  as  well,"  said  he.     "  They  would 

very  likely  have  made  more  noise,  and  followed 

us." 

"  Oh  yes  —  and  just  fancy  the  wrath  whec  they 

are  found  to-morrow  morning.  But  they  might  have 

bitten  you  dreadfully  —  I  was  terribly  frightened." 
"  I  fancy  there  will  be  more  wrath  about  you, 

my  dear,  than  about  the  dogs,"  said  Julius,  rather 

gravely. 

"  About  me  ?    Oh  —  I  hardly  know  —  perhaps. 

I  do  not  think  any  one  will  mind  very  much." 

"What  does  it  matter  who  minds,  as  you  call 
it  ?  "  said  Julius,  pushing  her  thick  hair  from  her 
forehead  tenderly,  and  looking  at  her  with  loving 
eyes.  "What  does  it  matter  to  us  now?  What 
can  anything  ever  matter  again?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  nothing,  dear,"  she  answered 
softly,  and  her  head  drooped  happily  upon  his 
shoulder.  They  were  as  though  alone  in  the  boat, 
for  the  broad  sail  was  stretched  right  across  to 
catch  the  wind,  and  hid  the  men,  who  sat  together 
forward,  chattering  in  a  low  voice  in  the  incompre 
hensible  dialect  know  as  the  lingua  franca,  the 
free  tongue  in  which  all  Mediterranean  sailors  un 
derstand  one  another,  from  Gibraltar  to  Constan 
tinople,  and  from  Smyrna  to  Marseilles.  They  did 
not  care  a  rush  what  their  master  did,  nor  where 
he  went ;  they  had  some  confidence  in  his  knowl- 


TO  LEEWARD.  327 

edge  of  the  sea  and  of  the  coast,  and  they  had  en 
tire  confidence  in  themselves,  whatever  wind  might 
blow.  It  was  nothing  to  them,  who  came  from  the 
north  coast,  whether  their  broad-shouldered  "  si«*- 

O 

nore "  took  a  "  bella  signora "  from  Naples  or 
Sorrento  for  a  midnight  sail  in  his  boat.  He  paid 
well,  to  every  man  his  wages,  and  he  often  gave 
them  a  few  francs  to  drink  his  health.  They  had 
never  had  so  good  a  "  padrone "  before,  and  they 
asked  no  questions,  wisely  distinguishing  the  side 
of  the  bread  upon  which  a  bountiful  providence 
had  spread  the  most  butter  for  their  benefit.  They 
also  said  that  nothing  ever  mattered  much  so  long 
as  they  got  their  pay. 

Leonora  had  found  at  last  the  desire  of  her 
heart,  —  the  reckless,  stormy  passion,  careless  of 
everything  but  itself  and  its  object,  of  which  she 
had  so  often  dreamed.  She  had  found  the  man  for 
her  to  love,  and  she  did  love  him  to  distraction.  As 
for  the  rest  of  the  world,  she  was  more  persuaded 
than  ever  that  there  was  nothing  very  much  in 
anything  after  all.  What  she  had  was  wholly 
sufficient  in  the  present,  the  future  was  a  future 
full  of  joy  and  love,  and  divested  of  everything  that 
could  possibly  be  wearisome,  and  the  past  was  cut 
off,  murdered,  dead  and  buried  out  of  sight. 

But  though  she  had  killed  it  and  thrown  it  away, 
as  Julius  had  done  with  the  dogs,  it  had  a  ghost 
and  a  living  memory  that  would  haunt  her  for 
many  days  and  weeks,  and  months  and  years.  A 
life  is  not  a  dream  to  be  forgotten,  nor  an  old  gar- 


328  TO  LEEWARD. 

ment  to  be  thrown  aside  at  will.  Life  is  an  ever 
present  thing,  and  all  our  past  is  as  much  a  part 
and  parcel  of  to-day  as  the  marks  we  bear  in  our 
bodies  are  portions  of  ourselves,  no  matter  how  we 
came  by  them,  nor  when. 

Out  of  nothing,  nothing  can  come.  Out  of  confu 
sion  and  vanity  and  pure  selfishness,  out  of  confused 
and  incoherent  fragments  of  half -expressed  wisdom, 
out  of  the  very  vanity  of  vanities,  which  is  the  van 
ity  of  wise  words  wrought  into  foolish  phrases; 
out  of  the  shell  of  an  imaginary  self  wrought  fine 
and  gilded  to  please  the  worst  part  of  the  real  self, 
—  out  of  all  these  things,  I  say,  what  can  come  that 
is  good  ?  or  can  anything  come  of  them  which  is 
truly  evil,  seeing  that,  one  with  another,  they  are 
all  but  so  many  empty  nothings,  melted  together 
and  lost  in  .the  great  void  that  receives  the  failures 
of  the  soul- world  ? 

If  anything  results  from  such  a  life,  it  must  be 
the  realization  of  nothing,  which  is  the  extinction 
and  annihilation  of  that  which  is,  —  and  woe  be  to 
the  destroyer.  We  may  destroy  all  hold  and  an 
chorage  of  mind  and  soul,  we  may  reason  our 
selves  into  a  disbelief  in  reality,  in  matter,  in  daily 
life,  in  good  and  evil.  But  always  when  we  think 
that  everything  is  done,  and  that  our  fabric  of  phi 
losophy  is  faultless,  there  arises  the  strong  tide  of 
human  passion  and  creeps  across  the  sands  to  our 
tower.  At  first  we  may  watch  the  waves  from  a 
long  way  off,  and  laugh  to  see  them  break  and 
overwhelm  the  very  foolish  people  who  have  no 


TO  LEEWARD.  329 

tower  on  the  shore  and  must  swim  for  their  lives 
or  perish.  But  the  tide  rolls  on  toward  us,  and 
runs  cruelly  up,  crashing  and  thundering  in  its  ris 
ing  might,  till  it  rends  and  tears  our  flimsy  castle 
out  of  the  sands  beneath  our  very  feet,  and  we  fall 
headlong  into  the  rushing  waters.  And  then  we 
too  must  struggle  like  the  rest,  if  we  can  ;  and  if 
we  cannot,  we  must  sink  to  the  bottom,  while  those 
who  learned  when  the  tide  was  low  and  the  water 
smooth,  and  have  tried  their  strength  in  many  a 
brave  buffet  with  the  waves,  swim  strongly  over 
our  drowned  bodies. 

It  is  easy  to  moralize,  it  is  hard  to  live.  That  is 
the  reason  that  great  moralists  are  generally  either 
old  men  who  have  done  with  living  and  would  like 
to  teach  other  people,  or  else  young  men  and  young 
women  who  have  not  enough  vitality  to  animate 
the  most  lymphatic  oyster,  but  who  manage  to  float 
about  by  their  own  inflation.  These  latter  never 
save  any  one  from  drowning,  and  the  former  save 
very  few.  The  people  who  can  help  others  are  the 
strong  ones  who  can  catch  them  just  below  the 
shoulder,  by  the  arm,  and  support  them  and  push 
them  to  land,  themselves  doing  all  the  work.  That 
is  a  watery  simile,  but  most  similes  are  but  water, 
and  can  be  poured  into  a  tea-cup  or  into  a  bucket 
—  they  will  take  the  shape  of  either. 

The  night  wore  on,  the  full  moon  sinking  slowly 
to  the  west,  so  that  after  a  time  she  was  hidden 
from  the  lovers  by  the  sails,  and  there  was  a  broad 
shadow  behind  them.  Still  the  breeze  blew  fresh 


330  TO  LEEWARD. 

from  the  land  and  carried  them  straight  towards 
Ischia,  and  the  boat  rocked  smoothly  over  the  roll 
ing  water.  Leonora  rested  on  the  thick  cushions, 
and  her  head  lay  nestled  in  Batiscorabe's  arm  while 
he  held  the  tiller  carelessly  with  his  other  hand, 
steering  by  the  wind,  in  the  certainty  of  making 
the  right  course.  He  did  not  speak,  for  he  wanted 
her  to  rest,  and  so  it  came  about  that  before  long 
she  fell  peacefully  asleep,  and  Julius  drew  a  light 
shawl  tenderly  about  her,  and  kissed  her  ruddy 
hair,  and  looked  out  over  the  moonlit  water,  calmly 
as  though  he  were  sailing  for  his  pleasure. 

He  was  thinking  what  strange  things  happened 
in  his  life,  and  wondering  within  himself  whether 
he  could  ever  grow  old  and  be  like  other  people. 
But  he  could  never  be  like  other  people  now,  for 
he  must  live  a  life  apart  from  the  world,  and  create 
an  existence  of  a  new  kind,  utterly  free  from  the 
ties  and  bonds  and  weariness  of  society.  It  would 
also  be  without  the  amusements,  the  gayety,  the 
glitter,  and  the  flattery  of  society.  Batiscombe 
liked  all  that,  too;  but  he  thought  he  could  do 
without  it  very  well.  Just  now  the  fascination  of 
the  hour  was  upon  him.  The  sweet  sea-breeze,  the 
moonlight  on  the  water,  the  swirl  of  the  boat's 
wake  —  and,  above  all,  the  beautiful  woman  by  his 
side  sleeping  so  gently  and  nestled  so  lovingly  close 
to  him,  —  it  was  all  perfect. 

But  with  a  curious  duality  that  belonged  to  him, 
he  enjoyed  the  moment  and  thought  intensely  of 
the  future  at  the  same  time ;  not  with  any  fear  or 


TO  LEEWARD.  331 

regret  or  even  with  the  anticipation  of  remorse  for 
what  he  had  done,  but  with  a  far-seeing  love  of 
combination,  striving  to  know  exactly  what  would 
happen  and  to  provide  for  it. 

He  went  over  in  his  mind  the  many  places  to 
which  he  might  take  Leonora,  and  tried  to  select 
the  most  beautiful  and  the  most  retired  —  some 
ideal  spot,  not  yet  invaded  by  society.  Society,  in 
the  long  run,  gets  the  best  of  everything ;  artists 
and  poets  and  adventurous  tourists  may  seek  out 
an  inaccessible  region  and  keep  it  to  themselves 
for  a  while,  revelling  in  the  solitude  and  driving 
off  intruders  by  discouraging  civilization  and  af 
fecting  a  barbaric  display  of  shirt-sleeves,  paint,  and 
beards.  But  if  the  place  really  amounts  to  any 
thing,  so  to  say  —  if  it  is  really  beautiful,  really 
healthy  or  really  convenient  for  flirting  in  the  open 
air,  there  will  surely  come  at  last  a  stray  princess 
of  eccentric  disposition  and  fond  of  a  little  discom 
fort.  She  will  say  it  is  simply  too  delightful,  and 
so  very  natural,  you  know ;  and  in  the  course  of  a 
summer  or  two  the  society  battalion  will  encamp 
there,  the  houses  will  be  painted  red  and  green  in 
stripes,  and  there  will  be  a  band  and  a  casino,  and 
a  royal  personage. 

It  is  very  hard  to  find  the  kind  of  place  Julius 
wanted,  and  he  thought  for  a  long  time  before  he 
hit  upon  it.  But  at  last  he  had  a  happy  idea  and 
was  pleased  with  himself  for  having  it,  as  he  al 
ways  was.  Very  cautiously  he  got  a  cigarette  out 
of  his  pocket  and  lit  it  with  one  hand,  steadying 


332  TO  LEEWARD. 

the  helm  with  his  elbow.  He  did  it  so  smoothly 
and  quietly  that  Leonora  did  not  wake,  and  he 
puffed  in  silent  enjoyment  of  the  tobacco,  taking 
care  that  the  smoke  should  not  blow  into  her  face. 

It  was  very  like  Julius  Batiscombe  to  risk  waking 
her  in  order  that  he  might  smoke,  for  he  was  a 
selfish  man  and  knew  it,  and  delighted  in  it.  But 
it  came  upon  him  in  gusts,  and  was  not  always  a 
part  of  him  ;  only,  when  it  did  come,  it  covered 
completely  the  better  features  of  his  nature.  In 
carrying  away  Leonora,  he  had  done  one  of  the 
most  absolutely  selfish  actions  of  his  life,  and  for 
the  time  being  there  was  nothing  he  would  not  do 
so  long  as  he  could  keep  her  with  him  and  make 
her  sure  that  he  loved  her.  He  knew  well  enough 
that  she  loved  him.  He  did  not  want  to  know  any 
thing  about  his  own  motives.  He  was  in  love  — 
that  was  motive  enough  for  anything. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  deep  down  in  his  soul  there 
were  other  incentives  at  play ;  but  he  would  not 
acknowledge  that  to  himself.  It  was  true  that  since 
he  had  loved  Diana  he  had  never  loved  another 
woman  as  he  loved  Leonora.  There  was  a  charm 
about  her  that  he  could  not  explain,  that  overcame 
him  and  filled  his  whole  life.  His  lingering  feeling 
for  Diana  was  always  real  when  no  other  passion 
was  in  the  way,  and  it  had  never  happened  before 
that  any  one  of  his  affairs  had  crossed  her  path. 
But  now  it  had  chanced  at  last,  and  the  strong  po 
sition  she  had  taken  against  him  from  the  first  had 
roused  a  bitter  opposition  in  him.  It  secretly  de- 


TO  LEEWARD.  333 

lighted  him  to  think  of  her  anger,  and  sorrow,  and 
mortification  at  the  success  of  his  enterprise.  But, 
nevertheless,  he  loved  Leonora  with  all  the  strength 
of  pass-ion  that  remained  to  him,  and  that  was  say 
ing  much. 

Again,  he  had  the  vanity,  in  some  directions,  of 
half  a  dozen  ordinary  men.  It  is  often  a  peculiar 
ity  that  goes  with  unusual  physical  courage  and 
strength,  which  he  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree. 
But  it  did  not  go  into  his  work,  for  he  was  an  ar 
tist  at  heart,  besides  being  a  man  of  the  world,  and 
was  never  long  satisfied  with  anything  he  wrote. 
It  was  the  kind  of  vanity  that  hankers  after  the 
admiration  of  women,  and  would  not  take  the  ad 
miration  of  men  at  a  gift,  —  an  intensely  virile 
characteristic  of  immense  power.  He  would  like 
to  rule  men,  to  lead  them  to  do  great  things  or  to 
crush  them  under  his  heel,  according  to  his  mood ; 
and  he  sometimes  ground  his  teeth  because  he 
could  do  neither.  But  he  did  not  want  their  ad 
miration,  much  less  their  sympathy.  They  might 
flatter  him,  or  abuse  him  —  he  was  utterly  indiffer 
ent.  But  he  would  sacrifice  a  great  deal  for  the 
approbation  of  a  woman,  and  he  often  got  it ;  for 
women,  generally  speaking,  like  best  the  men  who 
hang  upon  their  words  and  will  do  anything  under 
heaven  for  a  smile  and  a  word  of  praise  —  as  is 
natural. 

Consequently,  Leonora's  evident  interest  in  him 
self  had  pleased  Julius  from  the  very  first,  and 
he  had  often  done  things  for  the  sake  of  hearing  her 


334  TO   LEEWARD. 

say  something  flattering,  which  had  meant  more 
than  he  had  realized.  There  was  no  doubt  what 
ever  that  his  vanity  had  played  an  important  part 
in  bringing  him  into  his  present  position.  Nor  was 
he  a  very  exceptional  man  in  this  respect,  save  in 
the  degree  of  his  qualities.  Hundreds  of  men  fall 
in  love  every  day  with  women  who  flatter  them, 
and  the  passion  is  not  less  strong  because  it  is  of  a 
low  order. 

It  was  over  now,  however,  and  the  plunge  was 
taken.  The  falling  in  love  was  accomplished,  and 
the  being  in  love  had  begun.  Henceforth  the  two 
main  considerations  in  his  mind  were  to  make  life 
convenient  and  easy  for  Leonora,  in  order  that  she 
might  not  cease  to  love  him  out  of  discontent,  and 
then  to  get  over  his  inevitable  meeting  with  Marc- 
antonio  as  soon  as  possible  and  as  well  as  possible. 
He  easily  saw  that  these  two  things  were  insepara 
ble.  If  all  question  of  future  complication  were  not 
removed  at  once  by  a  decisive  meeting  with  Car- 
antoni,  Leonora  would  live  in  a  state  of  fear  and 
trembling  for  months  to  come.  In  order  to  meet 
him  it  was  necessary  to  have  some  place  of  abode 
for  the  time,  where  Leonora  might  be  happy  —  of 
course  she  would  not  know  of  the  encounter  until 
it  was  over  —  and  at  the  same  time  the  spot  must 
be  so  chosen  as  to  be  tolerably  accessible.  He  had 
intended  to  go  to  France  when  it  was  over,  and  had 
therefore  sent  his  box  to  Turin,  meaning  to  take  it 
as  soon  as  he  felt  free  to  move  ;  Turin  suggested 
Piedmont,  and  Piedmont  suggested  a  place  where 


TO   LEEWARD.  335 

lie  had  once  spent  a  month  in  the  summer,  — 
scenery,  trout-fishing,  considerable  comfort,  and 
not  a  soul  there  excepting  some  of  the  local  society 
of  Turin,  who  found  it  convenient  and  cheap.  He 
at  once  determined  to  go  there,  and  to  send  Marc- 
antonio  information  of  the  fact,  in  order  that  he 
might  find  him  as  soon  as  he  pleased. 

He  no  more  expected,  or  wished,  to  avoid  a  duel 
than  Marcantonio  himself.  The  one  virtue  which 
never  deserted  him  was  his  courage.  He  would  let 
his  adversary  have  a  shot  at  him  if  he  liked,  but 
he  himself  would  fire  in  the  air,  of  course.  How 
could  he  be  base  enough  to  kill  a  man  he  had  in 
jured  ?  But  he  was  base  enough  to  wantonly  de 
stroy  the  happiness  of  that  man,  all  the  same.  It 
may  be  a  very  fine  thing  to  stand  up  and  let  a  man 
shoot  at  you  without  attempting  to  return  the  shot ; 
but  it  is  by  no  means  fine  to  do  the  things  that 
Julius  Batiscombe  had  done  to  lead  to  such  a  re 
sult.  He  did  not  think  much  about  it,  to  tell  the 
truth,  for  he  accepted  the  fact  as  the  consequence 
of  his  action,  and  occupied  himself  in  providing  for 
it  without  any  judgment  of  himself,  for  good  or 
evil.  He  had  once  said  to  Leonora  that  the  enjoy 
ment  belonged  to  the  man  who  ate,  and  not  to  the 
man  who  carved,  and  she  had  guessed  rightly  that 
however  well  he  might  analyze  the  lives  of  others, 
he  never  analyzed  his  own.  He  had  got  the  for 
bidden  fruit  and  he  was  glad  of  it,  and  meant  to 
keep  it  all  for  himself,  inwardly  rejoicing  at  the 
anger  of  those  who  would  have  prevented  him,  if 


336  TO  LEEWARD. 

they  could.  And  with  all  this,  the  fruit  gave  him 
an  intense  delight,  independently  of  the  triumph  of 
having  obtained  it.  He  was  not  a  man  who  tired 
of  anything  that  he  liked  so  long  as  the  thing  itself 
did  not  change  and  remained  as  sweet  as  ever. 

There  he  sat  at  the  helm  all  through  the  hours 
from  midnight  to  dawn,  and  Leonora  slept  peace 
fully  in  the  cool  sea  air,  at  rest  after  all  her  excite 
ment  and  fatigue.  Gradually  the  moonlight  seemed 
to  lose  distinctness,  while  gaining  more  strength 
and  permeating  the  shadows  of  the  boat  which  had 
before  been  dark  and  well  defined.  The  breeze 
blew  cooler  and  fresher  than  ever,  bearing  a  faint 
chill  in  its  breath,  and  the  water,  from  being  like 
black  velvet  strewn  with  diamonds,  turned  grad 
ually  gray  and  misty,  so  that  the  waves  could  all 
be  seen  with  their  small  crests  and  sharp  rough 
edges.  In  front  the  rocky  height  of  Ischia  seemed 
to  tower  to  the  sky,  and  soon  it  caught  the  first  soft 
tinge  of  the  dawn.  Quickly  the  rosy  light  crept 
downwards,  falling  gently  from  tree  to  tree  and 
from  rock  to  rock,  till  it  reached  the  water,  and  the 
sea  rippled  and  laughed  in  the  sweetness  of  the 
summer  morning. 

Leonora  moved  in  her  sleep,  and  Julius,  who  was 
watching  her,  saw  her  lips  tremble  a  little  as  though 
she  were  talking  in  her  dreams.  Then  she  started 
slightly,  put  out  her  hand,  and  opened  her  eyes. 
The  blood  mounted  to  her  cheeks  as  she  met  her 
lover's  glance,  and  he  looked  from  the  color  on  the 
water  to  the  color  on  her  face,  and  he  saw  that  the 


TO  LEEWARD.  337 

blush  of  the  woman  was  fairer  than  the  blush  of 
the  summer  sea.  She  sat  up  and  turned  from  him 
a  moment,  and  her  hands  were  busy  with  her  hair. 

"  Have  you  slept  well,  my  dear  one  ?  "  asked  Ju 
lius  affectionately;  "I  am  afraid  you  were  terribly 
uncomfortable." 

"  Oh,  so  well,"  said  she,  still  looking  away  and 
deftly  putting  a  hairpin  in  its  place.  "But  I 
dreamed  just  as  I  woke  up." 

"  What  did  you  dream,  sweetheart  ?  "  asked  Ju 
lius,  stretching  his  stiffened  limbs.  He  had  scarcely 
moved  for  four  hours ;  he  could  have  borne  it  for 
four  hours  longer  if  he  had  not  wanted  anything, 
—  but  he  had  risked  waking  her  in  order  to  get 
a  cigarette. 

"  I  dreamed  about  you,"  said  she.     "  You  be 
have  so  badly,  I  am  not  sure  I  shall  forgive  you,  - 
ever."     She  gave  him  a  hesitating  look  as  she  bent 
her  head  to  arrange  her  hair. 

"  Tell  me,  darling,"  said  he,  laughing. 

"  It  is  nothing  to  laugh  at,"  she  answered.  "  And 
besides,  —  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  tell 
you."  She  stopped  and  watched  him  with  a  little 
shy  laugh. 

"  Please  do." 

"  Well,  —  of  course  this  is  in  the  strictest  confi 
dence,  —  you  will  never  tell  any  one.  Do  give  me 
the  bag,  dear.  I  want  the  cologne  water." 

"  And  the  hairpins  and  the  handkerchiefs,"  added 
Julius  laughing,  as  he  stooped  to  get  the  bag  out 
of  the  stern  sheets.     "  Please  tell  me  the  dream." 
22 


338  TO  LEEWARD. 

Leonora  took  a  handkerchief  and  wet  it  from  the 
bottle  of  cologne  water.  Then  she  began  to  dab  it 
on  her  face. 

"  I  dreamed  that  you  "  —  dab  —  "  picked  me  up 
in  your  arms  and  " —  dab,  dab  —  "  carried  rne  down 
the  stairs,"  —  dab,  dab,  dab,  —  "  and  just  as  you 
were  putting  me  into  the  "  —  dab  —  "  into  the 
boat,  you  dropped  me  into  the  sea."  A  furious 
succession  of  dabs,  then  more  cologne  water  and 
another  handkerchief. 

"  But  you  said  something  about  that  last  night. 
You  made  me  put  you  down  on  the  rocks,  because 
you  said  you  had  dreamed  I  dropped  you.  Was 
that  another  dream  ?  " 

Julius  was  watching  her  operations  with  a  half- 
amused  interest. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  drying  her  face,  "I  dreamed  it 
all  over  again,  just  now." 

"  But  when  did  you  dream  it  first,  dear  ?  Yes 
terday  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  Ever  so  long  ago,  —  ages  ago."  She 
looked  down  at  the  flower  she  had  put  in  her  dress 
at  the  last  minute.  It  was  still  fresh,  and  she 
arranged  it  a  little. 

"  Before  you  knew  me  ?  "  asked  Julius. 
"  Oh  yes,  —  that  is  —  before  "  —  she  blushed 
again. 

"  When  was  it  ? "  he  asked,  amused  and  de 
lighted.  She  was  beautiful  in  her  freshness ;  she 
might  have  come  up,  a  living  Aphrodite,  from  the 
foam  of  the  bay  to  sit  beside  him  in  his  boat. 


TO  LEEWARD.  339 

"  It  was  before  that  evening-,"  she  said  at  last, 
"  when  you  met  me  in  the  church.  How  long  ago 
is  that?" 

"About  ten  years,  I  should  think,"  said  Julius 
gravely.  It  seemed  an  endless  time. 

"  Is  it  not  strange  ?  —  and  then,  that  I  should 
dream  it  all  again  —  it  is  so  funny.  Why  should 
you  have  dropped  me  ?  It  would  have  been  so 
easy  to  carry  me  into  the  boat,  and  yet  you  seemed 
to  stumble  on  purpose,  and  we  both  fell  in  and  were 
drowned.  Is  it  not  very  odd  ?  " 

She  seemed  to  have  settled  herself  now,  for  the 
remainder  of  the  journey ;  the  sun  had  risen  quickly 
over  the  land  while  they  were  talking,  and  she  put 
up  a  parasol  that  lay  on  the  opposite  seat.  She 
did  it  unconsciously,  not  realizing  that  she  had  not 
brought  one  with  her,  but  when  she  held  it  up,  she 
looked  at  the  handle  and  saw  that  it  was  not  one  of 
her  own.  Then  she  remembered. 

"  Did  you  get  it  for  me  ?  "  she  asked,  smiling. 

"  Yes,"  said  Julius ;  "  I  knew  you  would  want  it, 
so  I  sent  out  for  it  last  night." 

"Appoggiate!"  shouted  one  of  the  men  from 
behind  the  sail. 

Julius  put  the  helm  up  accordingly,  and,  as  the 
boat  went  off  a  little,  a  big  fishing  smack  ran  across 
her  bows. 

A  dozen  rough  fellows  were  lounging  about  in 
their  woollen  caps  and  dirty  shirts.  They  laughed 
gayly  at  the  crazy  foreigners  as  they  went  by,  and 
some  of  them  waved  their  caps. 


340  TO  LEEWARD.  ' 

"  Buon  viaggio,  eccellenza  !  "  they  shouted.  Ju 
lius  waved  his  hand  in  answer  to  the  greeting. 
Leonora  was  pleased. 

"  At  all  events,"  said  she,  "  some  one  has  wished 
us  a  pleasant  journey.  It  was  sweet  of  you  to  get 
the  parasol,  dear." 

So  they  chattered  together  awhile,  and  presently 
the  boat  went  round  the  point  of  the  island  to  the 
north  side,  and  they  took  in  the  sails,  and  the  six 
men  pulled  her  lustily  along  under  the  shore,  until 
they  reached  the  little  harbor  of  Casamicciola. 

"  We  can  stay  here  and  rest  all  day,"  said  Ju 
lius,  as  they  entered  the  hotel  on  the  hill,  half  an 
hour  later.  "  We  shall  not  be  disturbed,  and  this 
afternoon  we  will  sail  over  to  Naples,  and  you  can 
do  your  shopping  when  it  is  cool." 

At  half  past  eight  they  sat  down  to  a  breakfast 
of  figs  and  bread-and-butter  and  coffee.  At  the 
same  moment  over  there  in  Sorrento,  Temistocle 
laid  the  key  of  Leonora's  room  on  Marcantonio's 
writing-table,  and  edged  away  to  make  sure  of  an 
easy  escape  through  the  door. 

"  How  perfectly  lovely !  "  exclaimed  Leonora, 
stopping  in  the  consumption  of  a  very  ripe  black 
fig,  to  look  out  at  the  sea  and  the  exquisite  islands 
that  lie  like  jewels  between  Ischia  and  the  main 
land. 

A  waiter  had  brought  a  shabby  book  of  ruled 
paper,  with  a  pen  and  some  ink.  He  asked  if  his 
excellency  would  be  good  enough  to  write  his 
name.  Julius  took  the  pen  and  wrote  something, 


TO  LEEWARD.  341 

glancing  up  with  a  smile  at  Leonora,  who  finished 
her  fig  in  silence. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  she,  when  he  had  done.  He 
handed  her  the  book,  while  the  servant  waited  re 
spectfully. 

Julius  had  written  simply,  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bat- 
iscombe,  England" 

"  Give  me  the  pen,"  said  Leonora.  "  Oh,  dip  it 
in  the  ink,  please  —  thanks  !  "  She  wrote  some 
thing  and  gave  him  back  the  book.  Underneath 
his  writing  she  had  put  in  another  name. 

"I  wanted  to  write  it,"  said  she  with  a  little 
laugh.  Julius  looked,  and  laughed  too. 

"  LEONORA  BATISCOMBE,"  that  was  all. 

But  as  she  wrote  it,  Marcantonio,  over  there  in 
Sorrento,  fell  upon  the  hard  tiles  with  his  mother's 
diamond  cross  in  his  hand. 


CHAPTER   XXL 

LEONOKA  did  all  her  errands  —  or  as  many  as 
she  said  could  be  done  in  so  short  a  time.  There 
were  a  great  many  things,  she  explained,  which  she 
could  have  made  when  they  were  settled,  but  which 
would  be  in  the  way  at  present.  Julius  bought 
her  a  box,  and  wrote  a  label  for  it,  and  pasted  it 
on  the  cover.  She  began  to  find  out  that,  besides 
his  other  qualities,  he  was  a  very  practical  man, 
and  understood  travelling  better  than  any  courier 
she  had  ever  had. 

They  had  spent  a  few  hours  in  Ischia  as  they 
had  intended,  and  had  then  come  over  to  Naples  in 
a  small  steamer  that  plied  daily  between  the  island 
and  the  city.  Julius  paid  something  to  have  his 
boat  towed  across,  and  when  he  was  in  Naples  he 
paid  the  men  a  month's  wages  in  advance,  and  told 
them  to  go  back  to  Genoa  and  wait  for  him  there. 
They  might  steal  the  boat  —  or  they  might  not, 
he  did  not  care.  The  thing  had  to  be  sent  some 
where,  and  if  it  ever  reached  Genoa  so  much  the 
better. 

He  drove  with  Leonora  up  and  down  the  Toledo 
for  hours,  stopping  at  all  manner  of  shops,  and 
buying  all  manner  of  things.  Now  and  then  he 
would  succeed  in  paying  for  something,  but  she 


TO  LEEWARD.  343 

generally  insisted  on  using  her  own  money.  It 
was  fortunate  that  she  had  taken  it,  she  thought,  as 
it  would  have  been  so  awkward  to  let  him  pay  for 
everything.  He  remonstrated. 

"  All  that  I  have  is  yours,  darling,"  he  said. 
"  You  must  not  begin  with  such  ideas." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  be  a  burden  to  you,  Julius," 
answered  Leonora.  "  I  am  sure  I  must  be  much 
richer  than  you.  Nobody  ever  made  himself  rich 
by  writing  books."  She  laughed,  and  he  laughed 
with  her.  It  was  so  very  amusing  to  talk  to  each 
other  about  what  they  possessed. 

"  Ideas  about  being  rich  are  comparative,"  said 
Julius.  "  If  I  sent  Worth  two  or  three  hundred 
pounds  for  a  dress  every  other  week,  I  should  cer 
tainly  not  be  very  well  off.  But  "  — 

"  Oh,  Julius  —  what  an  idea  !  There  is  no  one 
so  cheap  as  Worth  in  the  long  run." 

"  I  was  going  to  say  something  very  pretty,"  re 
marked  Julius. 

"  Oh,  I  would  not  have  interrupted  you  if  I  had 
known.  What  was  it?" 

"  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  must  be  richer  than 
you  —  since  I  have  got  you,  and  you  have  only  got 
me." 

"  You  always  say  things  like  that,"  said  Leonora 
laughing  lightly.  "  Be  sure  that  you  always  do  — 
I  like  them  very  much." 

"  Ah,"  said  Julius,  gravely,  "  I  will  sit  up  all 
night  and  make  them  for  you." 

"  They  ought  to  be  spontaneous,"  said  Leonora. 


344  TO  LEEWARD.* 

"  Everything  that  is  pretty  in  the  world  is  spon 
taneous  to  you,  my  dear.  But  I  have  to  work  hard 
to  make  pretty  things,  because  I  am  only  a  man." 

"  That  is  really  not  bad,"  said  she,  laughing 
again.  She  wondered  vaguely  whether  he  would 
always  be  the  same.  Her  husband  used  to  talk 
much  like  that  at  first.  But  he  grew  so  dull,  and 
when  he  said  things  he  never  looked  as  if  he  quite 
meant  them.  Julius  said  sometimes  a  few  words  — 
just  what  any  one  might  have  said  ;  but  there  was 
a  tone  in  his  voice,  and  his  eyes  were  so  fiery.  She 
loved  the  fire ;  it  used  to  frighten  her  at  first. 

"  We  cannot  stay  here,"  said  Julius,  when  they 
sat  over  their  dinner  at  the  hotel  on  the  Chiaja. 
"  It  is  altogether  too  ridiculously  hot ;  it  is  a  per 
fect  caricature  of  a  summer,  with  all  its  worst 
points  exaggerated." 

"  Yes  ;  but  where  shall  we  go  ?  "  asked  Leonora. 

"  I  had  thought  of  a  charming  place,"  said 
Julius.  "  It  is  away  in  the  Piedmontese  Alps  — 
all  mountains  and  chestnut  woods  and  waterfalls. 
An  old  convent  built  over  a  torrent.  Only  the 
people  from  Turin  go  there." 

"  That  sounds  cool,"  said  Leonora,  fanning  her 
self,  though  whatever  she  might  suffer  from  the 
heat  she  never  looked  hot.  "  Let  us  go.  When 
were  you  there  ?  " 

"  Years  and  years  ago,"  said  Julius.  "  I  used  to 
catch  trout  with  caddis-worms,  and  write  articles 
about  Italian  politics.  You  may  imagine  how  much 
I  knew  of  what  was  going  on,  shut  up  in  an  old 


TO  LEEWARD.  345 

convent  in  the  mountains.  But  it  made  no  dif 
ference.  Writing  about  Italian  politics  is  very 
like  fishing  with  worms." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  You  sit  on  a  bank  with  a  red,  white,  and  green 
float  to  your  line.  You  have  not  the  least  idea 
what  is  going  on  under  the  water.  Now  and  then 
the  float  dips  a  little,  and  then  you  write  that  the 
national  sentiment  of  honor  is  disturbed.  That  is 
a  bite.  By  and  by  the  float  disappears  and  your 
line  is  pulled  tight,  and  you  think  you  have  got  a 
fine  fish.  Then  you  write  that  a  revolution  is  im 
minent,  and  you  haul  up  the  line  cautiously,  and 
find  a  wretched  little  roach  or  a  stickleback  has 
swallowed  your  hook.  The  red,  white,  and  green 
float  waves  over  your  head  like  a  flag  while  you  get 
the  hook  out  and  bait  it  again.  You  make  another 
cast,  and  you  write  home  that  order  has  been  re 
stored.  On  the  other  side  of  the  bank  sits  another 
fellow,  Tvith  a  float  painted  red,  white,  and  blue. 
He  is  the  French  correspondent.  Sometimes  you 
get  his  fish,  and  sometimes  he  gets  yours.  It  is 
very  lively." 

"  You  used  to  say  that  a  simile  was  an  explana 
tion  and  not  an  argument,"  said  Leonora,  rather 
amused  at  his  description.  She  always  remem 
bered  what  he  said,  and  enjoyed  quoting  him  against 
himself. 

"  So  it  is.  What  I  told  you  was  an  illustration 
of  a  correspondent's  life,  not  an  argument  against 
the  existence  of  very  fine  fish  in  the  stream." 


346  TO  LEEWARD: 

"  You  are  too  quick,"  said  Leonora,  laughing. 
"  One  has  to  be  quick  in  order  not  to  appear  too 
awfully  slow  in  comparison  with  you,  dear,"  an 
swered  Julius  at  once. 

"  Again,  —  there  is  no  stopping  you  !  "  It 
amused  her  to  talk  to  him,  he  was  so  ready;  and 
always  with  something  well  turned,  that  pleased 
her.  There  was  something,  too,  that  was  refresh 
ing  in  hearing  the  small  talk  of  a  celebrity,  often 
a  little  doubtful  in  grammar,  and  interspersed  nort 
and  then  with  a  little  generous  exaggeration  that 
she  liked.  She  had  read  his  books,  and  knew 
what  he  could  do  with  the  language  when  he 
pleased.  And  most  of  all  she  liked  to  speak  and 
to  be  spoken  to  in  English,  —  it  seemed  so  much 
more  natural. 

It  was  no  trouble  to  Julius  to  talk  to  her.  With 
some  people  he  was  as  silent  as  the  grave,  which 
produced  the  impression  that  he  was  very  profound. 
With  others  he  was  ready  for  a  laugh  and  a  jest 
at  any  moment,  and  they  thought  him  brilliant ;  but 
there  were  very  few  with  whom  he  talked  serious 
ly.  Leonora  saw  all  his  phases  in  turn,  for  she  felt 
that  if  she  did  not  know  his  character,  she  was  in 
sympathy  with  his  mind  and  understood  him. 

But  Julius  was  anxious  to  reach  the  spot  he  had 
chosen,  in  order  to  let  Carantoni  know  of  his  where 
abouts.  He  suggested  to  Leonora  that  if  it  was 
quite  convenient  to  her  they  might  go  the  next 
day,  when  she  had  had  a  good  night's  rest.  She 
assented  readily  enough.  To  tell  the  truth,  with 


TO  LEEWARD.  347 

all  her  gayety  and  enjoyment  of  the  novel  situation, 
she  disliked  Naples,  and  she  hated  to  feel  that  in 
the  morning;  she  would  look  out  of  her  window 

O 

across  the  bay  and  see  Sorrento,  and  think  of  her 
husband  as  being  there.  She  did  not  know  that 
when  she  laid  her  head  on  her  pillow  that  night 
Marcantonio  would  be  in  the  station  in  Naples, 
on  his  way  to  Home,  and  not  half  a  mile  away 
from  her. 

"Are  you  ever  seasick?  "  asked  Julius  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  Julius !  You  know  I  am  not,"  she  said  re 
proachfully.  He  laughed. 

"  No  ?  I  mean  in  a  steamer.  Boats  are  quite 
different." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Leonora.  "  I  have  often 
crossed  the  Channel,  and  I  was  never  ill  at  all." 

"  Oh,  then  of  course  it 's  all  right !  "  he  said. 
"  You  would  not  mind  in  the  least.  We  had  better 
go  to  Genoa  in  the  steamer  ;  it  is  very  decent  and 
much  cooler  than  all  those  miles  of  rail  and  dust." 

"Oh  yes,  far  pleasanter,"  said  Leonora. 

And  so  they  made  their  arrangements,  and  the 
next  day  —  the  day  when  Marcantonio  was  engag 
ing  the  detectives  in  Rome  —  they  went  on  board 
the  "Florio"  steamer  and  left  Naples,  and  Sor 
rento,  and  Ischia,  and  all  the  countless  reminis 
cences  that  attached  to  the  glorious  bay,  and  were 
carried  up  the  coast.  . 

"  The  dear  place,"  said  Leonora,  looking  astern 
as  she  sat  in  her  arm-chair  under  the  awning  on 
deck,  "  I  shall  always  love  it." 


348  TO  LEEWARD.  * 

"  But  you  are  glad  to  leave  it,  darling,  are  you 
not?"  said  Batiscombe,  who  stood  beside  her,  and 
was  looking  more  at  her  than  at  the  coast,  though 
he  held  a  glass  in  his  hand.  It  was  a  curious  re 
mark  to  make,  one  might  have  thought,  and  yet  it 
was  natural  enough,  and  did  not  jar  on  Leonora's 
thoughts.  She  was  not  sensitive  in  that  way  in  the 
least.  She  did  not  mind  his  referring  to  the  past 
in  any  way  he  chose. 

"Glad?  Of  course  I  am  glad,"  she  answered, 
looking  up  into  his  face.  "  How  could  I  not  be 
glad  ?  "  She  seemed  almost  vexed  at  the  simplic 
ity  of  the  question. 

"^Then  I  am  happy,"  said  Julius,  sitting  down 
beside  her.  And  he  spoke  the  truth  ;  for  the  time 
he  was  utterly  and  supremely  happy.  He  felt  in 
deed  the  grave  and  serious  mood,  which  the  bravest 
man  must  feel  when  he  knows  that  in  a  very  few 
days  his  life  will  be  at  stake.  But  his  vanity  told 
him  he  was  going  to  fight  for  her,  and  that  gave 
him  a  happiness  apart ;  so  he  concealed  the  serious 
tendency  of  his  thoughts,  talking  easily  and  gayly. 
It  was  his  vanity  that  helped  him  most,  telling  him 
it  was  for  her  ;  and,  as  always  in  his  life,  the  pros 
pect  of  a  woman's  praise  was  a  supreme  incentive. 
He  did  not  reflect  that  he  was  not  to  fight  for  Leo 
nora's  honor,  but  for  the  greatest  dishonor  the 
world  held  for  her. 

The  broad  sun  poured  down  on  the  water,  but 
the  west  wind  fanned  their  faces  and  the  awning 
kept  the  heat  from  them.  Leonora  lay  back  with 


TO  LEEWARD.  349 

half-closed  eyes,  now  and  then  carefully  opening 
and  shutting  a  fan  she  held.  She  was  wonderful 
to  look  at,  her  marvellous  skin,  and  the  masses  of 
her  red  hair  —  the  true  red  of  the  Venetian  women 
—  contrasting  strongly  with  her  soft  dark  dress, 
and  a  Sorrento  handkerchief  of  crimson  silk,  just 
knotted  about  her  dazzling  throat.  She  was  a  mar 
vellous  specimen  of  vital  nature,  of  pure  living 
litheness  and  elasticity,  gloriously  human  and  alive. 
And  the  man  beside  her  was  almost  as  singular  in 
a  different  way  :  he  was  so  quiet,  and  moved  so 
easily,  and  his  bright  blue  eyes  were  so  fiery  and 
clear,  his  skin  so  bronzed  and  even  in  color  ;  there 
was  strength  about  him  too  ;  and  the  passengers 
as  they  came  and  went  would  steal  a  glance  at  the 
couple,  and  make  remarks,  quite  audible  to  Julius 
and  Leonora,  about  the  beauty  of  those  Inglesi. 

"  Which  do  you  like  best,  dear,"  asked  Julius 
presently,  "  the  day  or  the  night  ?" 

"Oh  —  that  night  was  so  beautiful,"  said  Leo 
nora  ;  "I  love  the  moon,  and  the  freshness,  and 
the. white  sails,  and  all." 

"  Does  '  all '  include  anything  especial  ?  "  asked 
Julius  smiling. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  "  asked  she,  instead  of 
answering.  Her  red  lips  remained  just  parted  with 
a  loving  smile. 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  Julius.  "  I  leave  the 
thinking  to  you,  my  dear.  You  can  do  it  much 
better.  But  I  like  the  sunlight,  the  broad,  good 
sunlight,  far  more  than  the  moon.  It  is  so  hot  and 
splendid." 


350  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  Yes  5  I  suppose  it  is  like  you  to  prefer  it.  All 
men  like  the  sun  —  and  I  suppose  all  women  like 
the  moon.  At  least  I  do.  But  you  must  always 
like  what  I  like  now,  you  know." 

"  Including  myself,  I  suppose  ?  " 
^  "  Bah,  my  dear,"  laughed  Leonora,  "  you  will 
find  that  very  easy!  " 

How  very  unhappy  she  must  have  been,  thought 
Julius.  She  had  not  a  regret  in  the  world,  it 
seemed ;  and  the  only  fear  she  had  shown  had  been 
when  she  stumbled  on  the  descent,  so  that  he  took 
her  up  and  carried  her. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  he,  "  what  did  you  do  in  all 
those  dreadful  days  when  we  could  not  meet  ?  " 

^  "  I  did  nothing  but  write  letters  to  you  —  very 
nice  letters  too.  You  have  never  shown  yourself 
properly  grateful." 

"  No,"  said  Julius,  "  I  have  not  had  time." 
^  "  What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Leonora  with  a 
little  frown. 

"Why  — it  must  take  a  long  time  to  show  you 
how  grateful  I  am.  A  long  time,"  he  added,  his 
voice  sinking  to  a  deeper  tone,  that  Leonora  loved 
to  hear.  "  It  will  take  my  whole  lifetime,  dar 
ling." 

"  Thanks,  dear  one,"  said  she  quietly,  laying  her 
hand  on  his.  She  did  not  mind  the  passengers,  — 
why  should  she  ?  She  would  never  mind  the  world 
again,  as  long  as  she  lived,  for  the  world  would 
never  care  what  she  did  any  more. 

Her  experience  of  the  world  — or  of  what  she 


TO  LEEWARD.  351 

understood  by  the  term  —  had  not  been  very  happy, 
though  it  had  not  been  the  reverse.  She  remem 
bered  chiefly  the  mere  technicalities  of  society,  so 
to  speak.  She  had  enjoyed  them  after  a  fashion, 
inveighing  all  the  while  against  their  emptiness 
and  vanity,  and  now  when  she  looked  back  she  saw 
only  a  confused  perspective  of  brilliantly  lighted, 
noisy  parties,  of  more  or  less  solemn  dinners,  of 
endless  visits  to  people  who  bored  her,  and  of  an 
occasional  cotillon  with  a  *man  she  liked,  in  return 
for  numberless  dances  with  individuals  who  seemed 
to  be  trying  to  get  dancing  lessons  gratis,  or  who 
tore  furiously  up  and  down  the  room  till  she  was 
out  of  breath,  or  who  caught  their  spurs  in  her 
skirts,  and  scratched  her  arms  with  their  decora 
tions.  She  did  not  remember  how  she  had  enjoved 
motion  for  motion's  sake,  and  had  rarely  refused 
to  go  out,  in  spite  of  the  aforesaid  annoyances. 
She  did  not  remember  the  little  thrills  of  pleasure 
she  had  felt,  as  Marcantonio  was  gradually  at 
tracted  to  her,  till  he  was  always  the  first  to  greet 
her  and  to  put  his  name  on  her  card  for  a  turn, 
and  was  always  the  last  to  bid  her  good-night,  de 
voting  himself  to  her  mother  when  she  was  engaged 
with  some  one  else.  She  did  not  remember  the 
delight  she  had  often  experienced  in  discussing  so 
ciety  with  Mademoiselle  Le  Creux  and  Mademoi 
selle  Le  Vide,  bowling  over  institutions  with  a 
phrase  and  destroying  characters  with  an  adjec 
tive.  There  were  many  things  Leonora  did  not  re 
member  which  had  given  her  great  pleasure  a  few 


352  TO   LEEWARD. 

months  ago;  but  most  of  them  reminded  her  of 
her  husband,  and  she  did  not  want  to  be  reminded 
of  him  in  the  least. 

There  was  continually  a  sort  of  unconscious  com 
parison  going  on  between  him  and  Julius  Batis- 
combe  ;  she  could  not  help  it,  and  it  had  been  per 
haps  the  earliest  phase  of  her  love.  Even  at  the 
moment  when  Marcantonio  had  offered  himself  to 
her,  Julius  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  and  she 
had  wondered  what  he  would  have  said  if  he  had 
been  making  the  same  proposal.  She  knew,  now. 
.She  thought  she  knew  the  difference  in  the  intona 
tion  of  the  man  who  loved,  and  the  man  who  merely 
wanted  to  marry.  Ah  —  if  she  had  only  known  in 
time,  things  would  have  been  different.  She  would 
have  refused  Marcantonio,  after  all  his  devotion, 
and  she  would  have  married  Julius. 

She  did  not  understand  that  Julius  would  never 
have  fallen  in  love  with  her  then  ;  that  the  mere 
possibility  of  being  led  into  marriage  reared  an 
impassable  barrier  between  him  and  the  whole  of 
youngladydom.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  would  not  marry,  and  young  ladies  said  he  was 
the  most  obstinate  bore  they  knew ;  which  was  very 
unkind,  for  he  kept  out  of  their  way,  and  only 
bored  them  when  he  was  obliged  to  talk  to  them, 
doing  it  systematically  and  successfully  in  self-de 
fence.  But  Leonora  innocently  supposed  that  if 
Julius  had  met  her  more  intimately,  in  time,  he 
would  have  fallen  in  love  with  her  just  as  he  had 
done  now,  and  would  have  proposed  after  six  weeks' 


TO   LEEWARD.  353 

acquaintance,  and  they  would  have  been  happy  for 
ever  after.  She  changed  to  think  of  this  now,  and 
she  sighed. 

"What  is  the  matter,  sweetheart?"  asked  Julius. 

"  Nothing,"  said  she,  "  I  was  thinking  of  some 
thing,  —  that  is  all." 

"  Tell  me,  dear,"  said  he,  bending  towards  her« 
She  hesitated  a  moment,  looking  into  his  eyes. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  she  said  at  last,  "  of  some 
thing  that  happened  once.  Do  you  remember,  at 
that  ball,  when  you  stood  in  the  doorway  and  looked 
so  dreadfully  bored,  and  I  was  sitting  not  far  off 
with  —  with  the  marchese  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Julius,  calmly,  "  I  imagined 
he  was  just  proposing  to  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Leonora,  in  a  low  voice,  "  he  was." 

"  I  wish  he  had  been  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea," 
said  Julius,  fiercely.  Indeed,  the  idea  disgusted 
him,  being  as  much  in  love  as  he  was.  Neverthe 
less,  he  thought  she  was  a  singular  woman  to  refer 
to  the  thing,  —  so  very  soon.  He  had  at  first  ex 
pected  that  she  would  never  wish  to  mention  her 
husband  to  him  ;  at  least,  not  for  very  long ;  but 
she  seemed  rather  to  seek  the  subject  than  to  avoid 
it.  He  mused  for  a  moment,  looking  out  under  his 
half -closed  lids,  as  was  his  habit  when  he  was  think 
ing.  Suddenly  a  smile  came  into  his  face. 

"  Do  you  remember,  dear,  when  you  and  he 
raced  me  in  the  boat  on  the  bay,  one  afternoon, 
ever  so  long  ago?  "  It  was  not  much  more  than 
six  weeks. 

23 


TO  LEEWARD. 

«  Yes  —  perfectly,"  said  she.     "  Why  ?  " 

"Have  you  any  idea  where  I  was  going  ?  "  asked 
Julius,  laughing  a  little. 

'  Not  the  least.  You  were  not  going  anywhere  ; 
you  were  out  for  a  row,  I  suppose,  because  you 
wanted  the  air."  She  looked  a  little  puzzled. 

"  If  you  had  not  overtaken  me,  I  should  never 
have  seen  you  again,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  affec 
tionately. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked,  rather 
startled. 

"  Simply  this,  I  was  running  away.  I  was  en 
gaged  to  dine  with  you  that  evening,  and  I  was  go 
ing  to  Naples  to  get  out  of  it.  I  would  have  sent  a 
telegram  about  urgent  business  —  or  anything." 

"  What  an  idea  !  "  she  exclaimed,  laughing. 
"Why  did  you  do  that?" 

"Because  I  knew  what  would  happen  if  I 
stayed,"  said  he,  softly. 

I'  But  you  did  not  care  for  me  then?  "  she  asked, 
quickly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  did,"  he  answered  ;  «  and  I  knew  I 
should  care  a  great  deal  more."  His  eyes  burned 
in  the  bright  light  of  the  afternoon. 

"But  I  did  not  love  you  in  the  least  then," 
said  Leonora,  demurely. 

'  No,  of  course  not  -—  and  I  did  not  flatter  my 
self  that  you  would.  But  I  knew  I  was  going  to 
love  you  with  all  my  heart."  Again  their  hands 
met  for  a  moment,  and  a  couple  of  sailors,  who 
watched  them  from  a  distance,  nudged  each  other 
and  grinned. 


TO  LEEWARD.  355 

"  When  did  you  first  begin  to  care,  dear  ?  "  he 
said  presently. 

"  Seriously  ?  What  a  silly  question,  Julius.  How 
can  I  tell  ?  " 

"  It  was  after  I  found  you  in  the  church,  was  it 
not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed.     Ever  so  long  after  that !  " 

"  About  two  days  ?  "  he  suggested  gravely. 

"  How  absurd,  Julius,"  she  said  with  a  little  air 
of  offended  dignity  that  was  charming.  "  You 
know  it  was  ever  so  long." 

"  I  wonder  what  you  thought  of  me,  when  you 
turned  round  and  saw  me  looking  at  you  in  the 
church,"  said  he.  He  really  had  not  an  idea,  and 
was  curious  to  know. 

"  I  thought  you  were  very  rude,"  said  she.  "  And 
afterwards  I  thought  you  were  very  nice." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  be  rude,"  said  Julius,  "  but 
I  could  not  help  going  in.  I  was  in  love  with  you, 
and  I  knew  you  were  there." 

44  In  love  —  already  ?  "  asked  Leonora. 

"Why  — yes  — it  was  at  least  a  week  after  I 
tried  to  run  away,"  said  Julius  innocently. 

"  It  was  exactly  two  days,"  said  Leonora.  They 
both  laughed,  for  it  was  quite  true.  It  was  very 
pleasant  to  recall  the  beginnings  of  their  love,  for 
it  had  all  been  sweet,  and  easy  ;  it  seemed  so  to 
them,  at  least,  as  the  foreshore  hid  Sorrento  from 
their  sight,  and  with  it  the  scene  of  all  they  were 
discussing. 

It  was  a  beautiful  voyage,  along  the  coast  in  the 


356  TO  LEEWARD. 

summer  sea.  There  was  always  enough  breeze  in 
the  daytime,  and  there  was  the  moon  at  night,  and 
they  always  felt  that  if  they  were  quite  alone,  on 
land,  it  would  be  even  more  charming,  if  possible. 
It  is  a  great  thing  in  happiness  to  know  that  there 
is  to  be  more  of  it,  and  more  and  more,  till  at  last 
the  heart  has  its  fill  of  joy. 

They  reached  Genoa,  and  rested  themselves  for 
a  day  and  a  night  in  the  glorious  rooms  of  an  old 
palace,  turned  into  an  hotel  by  the  profane  require 
ments  of  modern  travellers.  But  it  is  very  agree 
able  for  travellers  to  sleep  in  palaces,  by  whatever 
names  they  are  called,  and  it  is  foolish  to  say  that 
moderns  should  build  new  buildings  instead  of 
making  use  of  old  ones  when  they  have  them  ready 
to  hand. 

There  is  a  set  of  people  in  the  world  who  deal 
in  cheap  sentiments,  and  get  themselves  a  reputa 
tion  for  taste  by  abusing  everything  modern  and 
kneeling  in  rows  before  everything  that  is  old. 
They  grind  out  little  mediaeval  tunes  with  an  ex 
pression  of  ravished  delight,  and  tell  you  there  is 
no  modern  music  half  so  good,  —  in  fact,  that  there 
is  no  modern  music  at  all !  Or  they  garnish  them 
selves  in  queer  white  robes  and  toddle  through  a 
vile  travesty  of  some  ancient  drama  ;  or  they  build 
houses  of  strange  appearance  and  hideous  compli 
cation  of  style,  having  neither  beauty  without  nor 
comfort  within :  and  last  of  all,  they  say  to  them 
selves,  Verily,  we  are  the  most  artistic  people  in  the 
world  ! 


TO  LEEWARD.  357 

One  of  these  persons  could  not  have  passed  an 
hour  in  the  old  palace  that  the  Genoese  have  turned 
into  an  hotel.  The  bare  idea  of  such  profanity 
would  have  produced  artistic  convulsions  at  once, 
and  untold  suffering  in  the  future  by  the  mere 
memory  of  it.  But  neither  Batiscombe  nor  Leo 
nora  were  people  of  that  sort.  Julius  took  a  very 
different  view  of  life,  believing  to  some  extent  in 
the  simple  theory  that  useful  things  are  good  and 
useless  things  are  bad,  and  that  everything  that 
really  fulfils  its  purpose  must  have  some  beauty  of 
its  own.  Moreover,  Julius  had  very  little  rever 
ence,  but  a  profound  intelligence  of  the  comforta 
ble  ;  he  would  have  slept  as  well  in  a  king's  tomb 
as  in  an  American  hotel,  provided  the  furniture 
was  to  his  taste  in  respect  of  length  and  breadth 
and  upholstery.  As  for  Leonora,  she  had  been 
brought  up  chiefly  in  Italy,  and  never  troubled 
herself  with  the  intricacies  of  the  art  question  in 
that  country,  taking  everything  to  be  natural  so 
long  as  she  always  had  the  very  best  of  it.  And 
at  present,  being  wholly  in  love,  and  having  her 
heart's  desire,  she  would  even  have  been  willing  to 
pui  up  with  less  luxury  than  usual.  Her  talent 
for  supremacy,  as  Julius  used  to  call  it,  had  taken 
a  person  for  its  object,  and  found  the  dominion 
of  a  heart  more  interesting  than  the  dominion  of 
fashionable  luxury,  the  finest  horses,  or  even  Mr. 
Worth. 

"  I  used  to  hate  hotels,"  said  she  to  Julius,  late 
in  the  evening,  "  but  they  seem  very  pleasant  after 


358  TO   LEEWARD.* 

all.     There  is  never  any  fuss  about  anything  ;  and 
I  always  seem  to  get  just  what  I  want." 

"  Oh  —  hotels  are  very  well,  if  one  understands 
them,"  he  answered.  He  did  not  explain  to  her 
that  her  comfort  was  chiefly  due  to  his  savoirfaire. 
"  You  would  soon  find  it  a  great  bore,  though,"  he 
added. 

"  I  am  sure  I  should  not,"  said  she.  "  You  are 
so  clever  that  you  make  everything  seem  easy  for 
me." 

Julius  laughed,  out  of  sheer  satisfaction.  These 
were  just  the  little  speeches  he  loved  most  from 
women,  and,  most  of  all,  from  Leonora.  It  would 
seem  a  harmless  vanity  of  itself,  but  it  leads  to 
doing  acts  of  forethought  and  courtesy  for  the  sake 
of  the  praise  instead  of  for  the  sake  of  the  woman. 
"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  say  so,  my  dear,"  he 
answered,  modestly.  "  But  we  will  change  all  that, 
by  and  by.  When  the  heat  is  over  we  will  go 
away,  and  live  in  the  Greek  islands.  There  are 
places  worth  going  to,  there." 

"  Oh,  of  all  things  how  delightful !  "  cried  Leo 
nora,  carried  away  by  the  new  idea.  "  And  have 
a  house  by  the  sea,  and  a  boat,  and  Greek  servants, 
—  how  lovely !  " 

"  Meanwhile,  dear,"  said  Julius,  "  we  will  go 
and  be  cool  in  the  old  Carthusian  monastery.  It 
does  not  take  long  from  here." 

And  so  they  left  Genoa  and  reached  Turin, 
where  Batiscombe  found  his  box — the  one  that 
Marcantonio  intended  to  watch  so  carefully  —  and 


TO  LEEWARD.  359 

took  it  away ;  thence  they  went  to  a  place  called 
Cimeo,  a  little  southwards  by  the  railway,  in  the 
Maritime  Alps,  which  Leonora  said  were  beautiful ; 
and  then  they  drove  in  an  ancient  diligence  to  the 
Certosa  di  Pesio,  an  old  Carthusian  monastery,  as 
Julius  had  said,  built  over  a  wonderful  mountain 
torrent,  and  surrounded  with  ancient  chestnut-trees. 
Through  the  valley  that  opens  away  to  northward 
you  can  catch  a  glimpse  of  Monte  Rosa,  when  the 
setting  sun  gilds  the  snow,  and  the  breeze  brings 
down  with  it  the  freshness  of  the  Alps.  Leonora 
was  enchanted  with  the  place,  with  Batiscombe's 
choice,  with  him,  with  everything. 

"  And  to-morrow  you  will  show  me  where  you 
used  to  catch  fish,  and  write  your  articles  on  Italian 
politics  ?  "  said  she,  as  they  came  in  from  a  short 
walk  late  in  the  evening. 

That  night  Batiscombe  despatched  a  letter  to 
Rome. 

CERTOSA  DI  PESIO,  CUNEO, 
MARITIME  ALPS,  August  31. 

The  Marchese  Carantoni  will  find  Mr.  Julius 
Batiscombe  at  the  above  address,  with  a  friend. 

That  was  all,  but  it  gave  Julius  infinite  satisfac 
tion  to  send  it.  He  had  grudged  the  days  that  had 
passed  before  he  could  send  Carantoni  the  infor 
mation.  As  for  the  "  friend,"  he  had  seen  two 
or  three  cavalry  officers  about  the  place  as  soon  as 
he  arrived,  and  he  knew  that  he  could  rely  on  the 
assistance  of  some  of  them.  Duels  are  easily  ar 
ranged  in  Italy. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

WHEN  Marcantonio  met  Diana  in  the  morning, 
she  noticed  at  once  the  change  in  his  appearance. 
He  was  still  very  pale,  and  his  face  was  drawn  in  a 
peculiar  expression ;  but  he  did  not  look  so  wild, 
and  his  eyes  had  regained  their  clearness. 

Diana  greeted  him  affectionately,  but  made  no 
remark  about  his  health,  thinking  it  would  annoy 
him.  She  herself  had  slept  soundly  and  began  the 
day  with  a  new  supply  of  strength. 

"  You  are  still  determined  to  go  to  Turin  ?  "  she 
said,  with  half  a  question  in  her  voice,  but  as 
though  it  were  quite  certain  that  he  would  answer 
in  the  affirmative. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  am  quite  determined.  It  is 
the  best  thing  I  can  do." 

"  I  was  wondering  this  morning,"  said  Diana, 
"  whether  we  ought  not  to  let  our  uncle  know.  •  It 
seems  to  me  that  he  ought  not  to  hear  it  from 
strangers." 

Marcantonio  eyed  her  suspiciously. 

"  You  cannot  expect  me  to  go  and  tell  him  now," 
said  he.  "  The  train  leaves  in  an  hour  —  there  is 
not  time." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Diana,  seeing  how  quickly 
he  suspected  her  of  wishing  to  interfere  with  his 


TO  LEEWARD.  361 

plan.  "  But,  if  you  like,  L  will  write  and  tell 
him." 

"  We  can  write  from  Turin,"  said  he  moodily. 
"  No  one  knows  yet." 

He  hurried  her  to  the  station,  and  got  there  long 
before  the  hour  of  departure.  He  was  determined 
not  to  miss  the  train,  and  until  he  was  seated  in 
the  carriage  and  the  train  rolled  out  of  the  city  he 
could  not  feel  sure  that  Diana  would  not  stop  him. 
He  was  somewhat  relieved  when  they  passed  the 
first  station  on  the  way  to  Florence,  and  he  saw 
that  he  was  fairly  off.  Donna  Diana  sat  opposite  to 
him  and  watched  him,  thinking  sadly  of  the  last 
journey  they  had  made  together,  when  he  took  her 
to  Sorrento  by  the  night  train.  He  looked  quiet, 
though,  and  she  thanked  Heaven  things  were  no 
worse  ;  he  might  so  easily  have  done  himself  a  mis 
chief  in  the  first  outbreak  of  his  solitary  grief. 

She  still  hoped  for  a  chance  of  learning  how 
it  had  all  happened,  for  she  was  very  much  in 
the  dark,  and  had  no  means  of  learning  anything 
except  what  he  might  choose  to  tell  her.  Perhaps 
the  intense  inquiry  in  her  mind  reacted  on  his,  as 
often  happens  between  brothers  and  sisters.  At 
all  events,  he  began  to  speak  before  half  an  hour 
had  gone  by. 

"I  have  not  told  you  anything  about  it  yet, 
Diana  mia"  he  said.  "I  have  been  so  busy,  so 
many  things  to  do."  He  passed  his  hand  over  his 
forehead  as  he  spoke,  as  though  trying  to  collect 
himself. 


36*2  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  Of  course,"  said  .Diana  gently.     «  Do  not  tire 

yourself  now,  dear  boy.     Another  time  will  do  just 

as  well.     I  know  aU  that  is  absolutely  necessary." 

Marcantonio  laughed  very  slightly  and  a  little 

foolishly,  and  again  put  his  hand  to  his  head. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  answered,  "  I  shall  not  tire  myself. 
You  do  not  know  anything  about  the  — -  the  —  oc 
currence." 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  that  is  true." 
<'  They  went  away  at  night,"  said   Marcantonio 
quickly,  and  then  stopped. 

^  Pray  do  not  tell  me  about  it,  dear  brother," 
said  Diana,  rising  and  seating  herself  near  to  him 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  carriage.  She  laid  her 
hand  on  his  arm,  trying  to  soothe  him,  for  she  feared 
a  return  of  his  old  state. 

"  But  I  must  tell  you,"  he  said  impatiently,  and 
she  saw  it  was  useless  to  protest.  "  They  went 
away  at  night,"  he  continued,  "in  a  boat.  I  heard 
the  dogs  barking,  just  for  a  moment,  and  then  they 
stopped,  and  I  went  to  sleep.  I  went  to  sleep, 
Diana,"  he  cried  savagely,  "  when  she  was  running 
away  with  him,  and  I  could  have  killed  him  as 
easily  as  possible.  I  could  have  killed  them  both 
-  oh,  so  easily  !  "  He  groaned  aloud  and  clenched 
his  thin  hands. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Diana,  softly. 

"  I  could  have  killed  them  as  easily  as  he  killed 

the  dogs  and  stopped  their  barking,"  he  went  on ; 

"  he  killed  them  both,  wrung  their  necks  —  pove- 

rini  —  as  though  they  were  not  right  to  call  me. 


TO  LEEWARD.  363 

And  I  never  guessed  anything  though  I  heard 
them !  " 

He  was  working  himself  into  a  frenzy,  and  Diana 
was  afraid  he  would  go  mad  then  and  there.  She 
tried  to  draw  his  mind  to  another  part  of  the  story. 
She  was  a  woman  of  infinite  tact  and  resource. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  I  am  sure  you  could.  But 
how  long  was  it  before  you  telegraphed  to  me  ?  " 

"  How  long  ?  I  do  not  know,"  he  said ;  and  he 
seemed  trying  to  recollect  himself. 

"  Was  it  in  the  afternoon  ?  "  asked  Diana,  glad 
to  fix  his  attention  on  a  detail. 

"  Let  me  see  —  yes.  I  meant  to  send  it  from 
Castellamare  —  the  despatch,  I  mean  ;  and  instead 
I  stopped  the  carriage  at  a  little  town  on  the  way 
—  I  forget  the  name,  but  there  was  a  telegraph  of 
fice  there  —  and  so  I  sent  it  sooner." 

"Yes,"  said  Diana.  "I  got  it  at  about  seven 
o'clock.  My  husband  was  very  quick  and  got  a 
carriage,  and  brought  me  as  far  as  Genoa." 

"  How  good  of  him  !  "  exclaimed  Marcantonio. 
"  How  is  he  ?  And  the  children,  dear  little  things  ; 
are  they  all  well  ?  " 

His  face  changed  again,  and  a  pleasant  smile 
showed  that  he  had  forgotten  his  troubles  for  a  mo 
ment.  Diana  was  surprised  at  the  ease  with  which 
she  could  distract  his  attention,  and  she  determined 
to  make  use  of  her  power  to  the  utmost.  It  would 
be  something  gained  if  she  could  keep  him  quiet 
during  the  journey.  She  began  immediately  to 
speak  of  her  children,  a  boy  and  girl  of  four  and 


364  TO  LEEWARD. 

three  years  old.  She  told  him  about  their  games, 
their  appearance,  their  nursery  maids,  and  their 
French  governess.  She  branched  off  into  a  disser 
tation  on  the  beauties  of  the  Riviera,  and  still  he 
listened  and  made  intelligent  answers,  and  talked 
as  though  nothing  had  happened  to  him  and  they 
were  travelling  for  their  amusement.  Seeing  that 
she  was  accomplishing  her  object,  she  went  on  from 
one  subject  to  another,  telling  him  all  manner  of 
details  about  her  life  in  France,  in  Austria,  and 
other  places  where  her  husband's  official  duties  had 
called  him,  during  the  five  years  since  her  mar 
riage.  Only  about  Rome  she  would  not  speak, 
fearing  lest  the  smallest  reference  to  the  scenes  he 
had  recently  passed  through  might  take  his  mind 
back  to  his  great  grief. 

And  all  the  while  she  marvelled  at  his  calmness, 
and  at  the  ease  with  which  she  could  amuse  him. 
For  he  was  really  amused,  there  could  be  no  doubt. 
He  laughed,  talked  in  his  natural  way,  and  seemed 
enjoying  himself  very  well,  smoking  a  cigarette  now 
and  then,  and  commenting  on  the  weather,  which 
was  abominably  hot. 

"  Of  course,"  said  he,  "  we  shall  find  it  much 
cooler  in  Pegli." 

Diana  started  quickly,  and  then  looked  away  to 
hide  her  astonishment. 

"  Of  course,"  she  answered,  "  it  is  very  much 
cooler  there." 

Did  he  really  fancy  he  was  going  to  Pegli  ?  Had 
he  forgotten  Turin  and  his  errand  ?  Was  he  gone 


TO  LEEWARD.  365 

stark  mad  ?  She  could  not  tell,  and  was  frightened. 
It  might  have  been  a  slip  of  the  tongue,  —  but  he 
said  it  so  quietly,  as  though  he  were  anticipating 
the  delights  of  the  climate.  Nevertheless,  she  did 
not  dare  to  pause,  and  she  talked  bravely  on  in  the 
heat  and  the  dust. 

At  one  of  the  stations  the  train  stopped  ten 
minutes  for  refreshments.  Marcantonio  said  he 
would  get  out  and  buy  a  sandwich  and  a  bottle  of 
wine.  He  sprang  nimbly  from  the  step,  and  Diana 
watched  him  as  she  sat  by  the  open  door  of  the 
carriage.  He  looked  more  like  his  old  self  than 

O 

she  had  seen  him  since  the  catastrophe,  and  she 
watched  with  loving  eyes,  wondering  how  he  would 
bear  what  was  to  come,  and  for  the  first  time  wish 
ing  that  he  might  be  kept  always  in  this  state, 
without  the  necessity  of  a  meeting  with  Batiscombe. 

Presently  he  returned  with  the  provisions,  —  a 
rough-looking  brace  of  sandwiches,  and  a  bottle  of 
wine. 

"  It  is  the  best  I  could  do,"  he  remarked.  "  It 
is  the  last  paese  in  the  world."  He  still  looked 
cheerful  and  entirely  himself.  Diana  watched  him 
closely,  hoping  and  praying  with  all  her  might  that 
he  would  remain  so  —  forever,  even  if  he  were 
out  of  his  mind.  Anything  would  be  better  than 
to  see  him  suffer  as  he  was  suffering  that  morning. 
She  began  to  talk  again,  eating  a  little  of  the  sand 
wich,  for  she  was  tired,  and  needed  all  her  strength. 
lie  ate,  too,  and  drank  some  of  the  wine,  but  he 
no  longer  listened  as  he  had  done  before,  and  he 


366  TO   LEEWARD.  • 

did  not  answer  nor  make  a  remark  of  any  kind. 
Diana  had  taken  up  what  he  said  about  the  station, 
and  was  talking  about  travelling  in  France. 

Suddenly  Marcantonio's  color  changed  ;  he  grew 
pale  again,  his  eyes  stared,  and  he  dropped  the 
bread  he  was  eating.  Diana  was  terrified,  brave 
as  she  was,  for  she  knew  that  his  mind  had  gone 
back  .to  his  trouble, — how,  she  could  not  tell; 
but  it  was  clear  that  for  a  space  he  had  wholly  for 
gotten  it.  He  seemed  to  take  up  the  thread  of  his 
terrible  narration  at  the  point  where  he  had  been 
led  away  from  it. 

"  Temistocle  brought  me  the  key,"  he  said,  and 
his  voice  sounded  hollow  again  and  far  away.  "  He 
had  told  the  servants  she  had  gone  to  Rome  before 
daybreak,  and  that  I  had  gone  with  her,  —  ha! 
ha  !  —  he  is  a  cunning  fellow.  I  gave  him  some 
thing  for  himself,  —  I  think  I  did, — I  am  not 
quite  certain."  Again  his  ideas  seemed  to  wander, 
and  he  tried  to  remember  the  detail  that  had  es 
caped  his  grasp.  Quick  as  thought  Diana  seized 
the  opportunity. 

"  Did  you  give  it  to  him  in  the  evening  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  I  am  not  sure.  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  did 
give  it  to  him  after  all.  Oh,  I  cannot  remember 
anything  any  more."  He  clasped  his  hands  to  his 
head  as  though  striving  to  compress  his  brain  and 
to  compel  it  to  action.  The  train  moved  away 
from  the  station. 

"  You  can  send  it  to  him  in  any  case,"  suggested 


TO  LEEWARD.  367 

Diana,  in  an  agony  of  sympathy  and  suspense. 
Sha  would  have  added  "  from  Pegli,"  if  she  had 
dared  ;  but  she  was  not  sure  he  would  remember 
his  stray  remark,  or  whether  he  had  meant  it.  In 
a  moment  it  was  too  late. 

"  Of  course,"  cried  Marcantonio,  delighted  with 
the  idea.  "  I  can  send  it  from  Turin.  He  de 
serves  it  well.  There  will  be  time,"  —  he  hesitated 
and  spoke  slowly,  —  "  there  will  be  time,  —  yes, 
there  will  be  time,  before  I  find  him."  His  voice 
fell  almost  to  a  whisper,  barely  audible  to  Diana  in 
the  noise  of  the  train  as  it  gained  speed  in  starting. 
He  seemed  unconscious  of  her  at  the  moment  when 
he  said  the  last  words,  and  she  sat  with  clasped 
hands  and  set  lips,  not  knowing  what  to  expect 
next.  In  a  little  while  he  began  again.  She  had 
been  too  much  struck  by  his  quick  change  of  man 
ner  to  find  the  thing  to  say,  in  time  to  lead  him 
off. 

"  I  went  into  her  room,"  he  said.  He  stopped 
and  fumbled  in  his  pockets,  producing  at  last  the 
cross  of  sapphires  and  diamonds.  "  I  found  this," 
he  added,  showing  it  to  Diana.  She  would  have 
taken  it,  but  he  held  it  nervously  in  his  hand,  more 
than  half  concealed.  "  Do  you  know  it  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  she  as  quietly  as  she  could.  "It  be 
longed  to  our  mother." 

"  It  is  beautifully  made,"  he  said  suddenly,  look 
ing  closely  at  it.  "It  is  most  beautifully  made, 
and  the  stones  are  very  valuable.  Should  you  not 
think  that  they  are  worth  a  great  deal  ?  " 


368  TO  LEEWARD. 

"  They  must  be  —  the  sapphires  are  a  very  good 
color  and  the  brilliants  are  large,"  said  Diana,  hu 
moring  him.  "  I  wonder  where  it  was  made  ?  " 

"I  do  not  care  where  it  was  made,"  said  Marc- 
antonio  rougldy.  "  I  have  got  it  again.  I  will  give 
it  back  to  her  —  she  must  have  missed  it."  He 
looked  at  Diana  with  a  strange  pathetic  inquiry  in 
his  weary  eyes. 

"Leonora?"  asked  Diana,  in  surprise.  Marc- 
antonio  started  as  though  he  had  been  stung.  He 
had  thought  of  his  dead  mother. 

"  Leonora?  Ah !  "  he  cried  with  a  sort  of  muffled 
scream.  "  It  belonged  to  Leonora  —  Ugh !  "  With 
a  quick  movement  he  flung  the  jewel  at  the  window. 
It  chanced  that  the  pane  was  raised  to  keep  out  the 
smoke  on  that  side.  The  heavy  cross  cracked  the 
plate  glass  and  knocked  a  small  piece  out  of  the 
middle,  but  fell  to  the  floor. 

Marcantonio  remained  in  the  very  act,  as  he  had 
thrown  it,  for  one  instant.  Then  his  head  sank  on 
his  breast  and  his  hands  fell  to  his  sides  helplessly. 

"Oh,  Diana,  Diana,"  he  moaned  piteously,  "I 
am  mad."  Then  he  began  to  rock  himself  back 
ward  and  forward  as  though  in  pain. 

It  was  no  time  to  break  down  in  horror  or  grief, 
and  Diana  was  not  the  woman  to  waste  idle  tears. 
The  cross  had  fallen  at  her  feet.  She  had  instantly 
stooped  and  picked  it  up  and  hid  it  away,  lest  he 
should  see  it  again.  Then  she  heard  him  say  that 
he  was  mad,  and  she  made  a  desperate  effort.  She 
took  him  strongly  in  her  arms,  almost  lifting  him 


TO  LEEWARD.  369 

from  the  ground,  and  laid  his  head  upon  her  breast 
and  supported  it,  and  took  his  hand.  He  was  quite 
passive ;  she  could  do  anything  with  him  for  the 
moment  —  he  might  have  been  a  child. 

Diana  bent  down  as  she  held  him  in  her  arms  and 
kissed  him  tenderly  on  the  forehead  and  breathed 
soft  words.  It  was  a  prayer. 

Poor  woman !  what  could  she  do?  Driven  to  the 
last  extremity  of  agony  and  horror,  sitting  by  and 
seeing  her  brother  going  mad  —  raving  mad  —  be 
fore  her  very  eyes,  unable  to  soothe  his  grief  or  to 
strengthen  his  soul  by  any  words  of  her  own,  not 
knowing  but  that  at  any  moment  he  might  turn 
upon  herself  —  poor  woman,  what  could  she  do? 
She  breathed  into  his  ear  an  ancient  Latin  prayer. 
What  a  very  foolish  thing  to  do !  She  was  only  a 
woman,  poor  thing,  and  knew  no  better. 

O  woman,  God-given  helpmate  of  man,  and  no 
blest  of  God's  gifts  and  of  all  created  things  —  is 
there  any  man  bold  enough  to  say  that  he  can  make 
praises  for  you  out  of  ink  and  paper  that  shall  be 
worthy  to  rank  as  praise  at  all  by  the  side  of  your 
good  deeds  ?  You,  who  bow  your  gentle  heads  to 
the  burden,  and  think  it  sweet,  out  of  the  fulness  of 
your  own  sweet  sympathy  —  you,  whose  soft  fingers 
have  the  strength  to  bind  up  broken  limbs  and 
rough,  torn  wounds  —  you,  who  feel  for  each  living 
thing  as  you  feel  for  your  own  bodily  flesh,  and 
more  —  you,  who  in  love  are  more  tender  and  faith 
ful  and  long-suffering  than  we,  and  who,  even  err 
ing,  err  for  the  sake  of  the  over-great  heart  that 


370  TO  LEEWARD. 

God  has  given  you  —  is  it  not  enough  that  I  say  of 
you,  "  You  are  only  women,  and  you  know  no  bet 
ter  "?  What  greater,  or  higher,  or  nobler  thing 
can  I  say  of  you,  in  all  humbleness  and  truth,  than 
that  you  are  what  you  are,  and  that  you  know  no 
better  ?  What  better  things  can  any  know,  than 
to  bear  pain  bravely,  to  heal  the  wounded,  to  feel 
for  all,  even  for  those  who  cannot  feel  for  them 
selves,  and  to  be  tender  and  faithful  and  kind  in 
love  ?  And  even,  being  given  of  Heaven  and  loved 
of  it,  that  you  should  turn  in  time  of  need  and 
trouble  and  say  a  prayer  for  strength  and  knowl 
edge,  even  that  is  a  part  of  you,  and  not  the  least 
divine  part.  So  that  when  the  man  who  cannot 
suffer  what  you  can  suffer,  nor  do  the  good  that 
you  can  do,  sneers  and  scoffs  at  your  prayers  and 
your  religion,  I  could  wring  his  cowardly  neck  to 
death.  Even  poor  Leonora,  praying  philosophical 
prayers  to  a  power  in  which  she  did  not  in  the 
least  believe,  was  not  ridiculous.  She  was  pathetic, 
mistaken,  miserable,  perhaps,  but  not  ridiculous. 

Perhaps  Diana  had  done  the  best  thing,  out  of 
pure  despair.  The  long  familiar  words,  spoken  in 
her  soothing  voice,  at  the  very  moment  when  he 
was  conscious  that  he  was  on  the  verge  of  insanity, 
chained  his  faculties  and  gradually  brought  him  to 
a  calmer  state.  Perhaps,  also,  the  strong  magnetic 
power  of  his  sister  acted  more  forcibly  on  him  from 
the  moment  when  he  suddenly  abandoned  himself 
to  her  influence.  Like  many  people  who  possess 
that  strange  gift,  she  was  wholly  unconscious  of  it, 


TO  LEEWARD.  371 

and  she  sometimes  wondered  why  it  was  that  those 
about  her  yielded  so  easily  to  her  will.  Be  that  a3 
it  may,  Marcantonio  lay  quite  still  in  her  arms, 
and  at  last  his  eyelids  drooped,  his  limbs  relaxed, 
and  he  foil  into  a  deep  sleep.  The  hot  hours  wore 
on,  and  the  train  rolled  by  the  towns  and  hamlets 
and  castle-crested  hills  towards  Florence,  and  still 
he  slept,  and  Diana  tenderly  supported  him,  though 
her  arm  ached  as  though  it  must  break,  and  her 
eyes  were  dimmed  from  time  to  time  with  the  sight 
and  consciousness  of  so  niuch  misery. 

At  length,  as  they  entered  the  station,  she  waked 
him.  He  was  quite  calm  again,  and  collected,  but 
very  sad,  as  she  had  seen  him  that  morning. 

"  Have  I  slept  like  this  so  long  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  dear  boy,"  said  Diana. 

"  Dear,  dear  Diana,  how  good  you  are,"  he  ex 
claimed,  and  he  kissed  her  hand  gratefully.  "  We 
have  an  hour  here,  to  dine,  before  the  train  starts." 

"  Will  you  go  on  at  once? "  she  asked.  She  had 
vainly  hoped  that  he  might  be  induced  to  stay  in 
Florence.  But  he  had  recovered  himself  enough 
to  know  perfectly  well  what  he  was  doing. 

"Yes  —  certainly,"  said  he.  "We  shall  arrive 
in  the  morning."  She  dared  not  object  nor  make 
a  suggestion,  not  knowing  how  soon  lie  might  break 
out  again,  in  some  fresh  burst  of  madness. 

"  Very  well,"  she  answered,  as  a  station  porter 
took  their  handbags  and  smaller  properties,  "let 
us  dine  at  once." 

She  watched  him  and  saw  that  he  ate  with  a 


372  TO  LEEWARD* 

good  appetite.  She  had  heard  that  lunatics  always 
eat  well,  and  she  would  almost  rather  have  seen 
him  too  sad  to  care  for  his  food ;  nevertheless  she 
thought  it  would  do  him  good. 

There  is  probably  nothing  more  wearing,  more 
racking  to  the  nerves,  than  the  care  of  an  insane 
person.  To  be  ever  on  the  watch,  expecting  al 
ways  an  outbreak  or  a  painful  incoherence,  to  at 
tempt  to  follow  the  sensible  nonsense  that  madmen 
talk,  always  endeavoring  to  distract  the  attention 
from  the  forbidden  subject,  are  efforts  requiring 
the  highest  tact  and  the  greatest  coolness.  Diana 
could  accomplish  much  by  sheer  common  sense  and 
endurance,  and  more,  perhaps,  by  the  strong  affec 
tion  that  had  always  existed  between  her  brother 
and  herself.  But  she  felt  instinctively  that  she  was 
not  equal  to  the  task,  even  while  she  hoped  that 
Marcantonio  was  not  really  mad. 

She  was  mistaken,  however,  as  any  indifferent 
person  would  have  seen  in  a  moment.  He  was  in 
sane,  and  on  the  verge  of  becoming  violent.  Noth 
ing  but  her  wonderful  courage  and  strong  will  had 
kept  him  within  any  bounds,  and  he  might  at  any 
moment  become  wholly  uncontrollable. 

She  would  have  stopped  in  Florence  if  it  had 
been  possible,  but  it  seemed  dangerous  to  thwart 
him  at  present,  and  she  felt  sure  that  in  Turin  she 
could  get  the  help  of  some  first-rate  physician.  So 
she  submitted  once  more,  and  in  an  hour  they  were 
off  again,  in  a  reserved  carriage,  as  before,  flying 
northwards  towards  the  mountains,  where  the  road 


TO  LEEWARD.  373 

winds  so  wonderfully  through  a  hundred  tunnels, 
in  its  rapid  ascent. 

It  was  a  very  long  night  for  Diana.  In  all  her 
many  journeys  she  had  never  felt  fatigue  such  as 
this.  Marcantonio  would  sleep  for  an  hour,  and 
then  start  up  suddenly  and  begin  to  talk,  some 
times  asking  questions  and  sometimes  volunteering 
remarks  that  showed  how  his  mind  was  wandering. 
Once  or  twice  he  showed  signs  of  returning  to  the 
account  of  his  doings  after  Leonora  had  left  him, 
but  Diana  was  able  to  check  him  in  time,  for  he 
was  growing  tired  and  yielded  more  easily  to  her 
will  than  in  the  daytime. 

At  last  they  were  safe  in  the  hotel,  and  Marc 
antonio  was  in  his  room,  intending  to  dress,  he 
said,  before  going  out.  Diana  was  no  sooner  as 
sured  that  she  was  free  from  the  responsibility  of 
watching  him  for  a  few  minutes  than  she  sent  for 
the  proprietor  of  the  hotel,  inquired  for  the  ad 
dress  of  the  best  physician  in  Turin,  and  despatched 
a  messenger  with  a  very  urgent  request  for  his  at 
tendance. 

The  apartment  she  had  taken  with  her  brother 
consisted  of  a  large  sitting-room,  with  a  bedroom 
on  each  side  of  it.  Marcantonio's  room  had  but 
that  one  door,  which  she  could  watch  as  she  lay  on 
the  sofa,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  doctor. 

When  he  came  at  last,  breathless  in  his  haste  to 
put  himself  at  the  service  of  the  great  lady  who  sent 
for  him,  he  talked  very  learnedly  for  half  an  hour, 
after  listening  to  all  Diana  told  him  with  grave  at- 


374  TO  LEEWARD. 

tention.  He  could  not  see  the  patient  of  course, 
and  the  interview  took  place  in  a  small  antecham 
ber,  from  which  he  could  escape  if  Marcantonio 
were  heard  moving  within.  He  was  of  opinion 
that  it  was  not  a  case  of  insanity,  but  of  temporary 
derangement  of  the  faculties  from  the  severe  strain 
they  had  received.  The  sudden  manifestations  of 
violence  were  natural  enough  to  an  Italian,  —  if  it 
had  been  the  case  of  an  Englishman,  it  would  have 
been  different,  because,  as  the  doctor  said,  half 
in  earnest  and  half  in  jest,  Inglesi  were  generally 
mad  to  begin  with,  and  anything  beyond  that  made 
them  furious  maniacs.  He  had  a  man,  he  said, 
long  accustomed  to  dealing  with  lunatics.  He 
would  send  him  disguised  as  a  servant,  and  he  could 
be  in  constant  attendance,  thus  relieving  Diana  of 
the  care  of  watching  the  marchese.  He  himself 
would  call  every  day  and  inquire,  and  would  be 
ready  at  a  moment's  notice  to  remove  him  to  a 
place  of  safety.  In  his  present  state,  he  said,  to 
shut  him  up,  and  treat  him  as  though  he  were  in 
sane,  might  very  likely  make  a  permanent  madman 
of  him. 

The  doctor  retired,  leaving  Diana  somewhat  re 
assured.  All  that  he  had  said  seemed  reasonable, 
and  she  would  strictly  follow  his  advice.  Mean 
while,  she  went  to  her  own  room,  feeling  sure  that 
she  could  hear  Marcantonio's  door  open,  if  he  fin 
ished  dressing  and  came  out.  But  Marcantonio 
rang  his  bell  at  the  end  of  an  hour,  and  sent  word 
to  his  sister  that  he  felt  tired  and  had  gone  to  bed, 
and  would  not  rise  till  midday. 


TO  LEEWARD.  375 

Poor  fellow  —  she  was  pleased  at  the  intelli 
gence,  but  the  fact  was  that  his  mind  had  strayed 
again  ;  he  had  forgotten  the  object  of  his  journey, 
and  being  worn  out  had  gone  to  bed  like  a  tired 
child.  The  new  place,  the  strange  room,  and  the 
necessity  of  unpacking  his  clothes  himself  had  con 
fused  him,  and  driven  everything  else  out  of  his 
head. 

Before  he  awoke,  the  confidential  man  had  ar 
rived,  arrayed  in  the  ordinary  dress  of  an  hotel  ser 
vant,  lie  was  a  quiet  individual,  with  strong  hands 
and  iron-gray  hair,  neat  in  his  appearance,  and  a 
little  hesitating  in  his  speech;  but  his  eyes  were 
keen  and  searching,  and  he  moved  quickly.  Diana 
was  pleased  with  him,  and  understood  that  the  doc 
tor  had  given  her  good  advice,  and  that  Marc- 
antonio  would  be  safely  watched.  The  man  said 
he  would  serve  them  in  their  own  sitting-room,  and 
perform  the  offices  of  valet  for  Marcantonio,  and 
be  altogether  in  the  position  of  a  private  servant, 
which,  however,  was  not  his  profession,  as  he  took 
care  to  add. 

When  at  last  Diana  and  Marcantonio  met,  each 
rested  and  refreshed,  he  looked  the  less  weary  of 
the  two.  Diana  had  suffered  too  much  to  be  en 
tirely  herself,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  felt 
as  though  she  had  taxed  her  strength  too  severely. 
Moreover,  the  strain  was  not  removed,  but  in 
creased  hourly.  Her  woman's  instinct  told  her 
that,  in  spite  of  the  doctor's  opinion,  her  brother 
was  actually  out  of  his  mind,  perhaps  past  all  re- 


376  TO  LEEWARD. 

covery.  His  sudden  cheerfulness  was  horrible  to 
her,  and  made  her  shudder  when  she  thought  of  the 
magnitude  of  what  he  was  forgetting. 

"  Let  us  take  a  carriage  and  see  Turin,  Diana 
mia"  he  suggested  gayly,  as  they  finished  their 
lunch  and  he  lit  a  cigarette.  "  I  have  never  been 
in  Turin  with  you.  There  are  some  very  pretty 
things  to  see." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  she  readily.  "  Let  us  go 
aj;  once." 

The  confidential  servant  was  despatched  for  a 
carriage.  The  idea  of  seeing  sights  with  his  sister 
pleased  Marcantonio,  and  he  never  relapsed  into 
his  sadder  self  during  the  afternoon.  Diana  did 
not  know  whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry ;  his  forget- 
fulness  was  terrible,  but  his  memory  was  worse. 
She  remembered  the  scene  with  the  cross  on  the 
previous  day,  in  the  railway-carriage,  and  she 
thought  that  if  insanity  brought  peace  it  was  better 
to  be  insane. 

They  drove  about  and  saw  what  was  to  be  seen, 
—  the  .  great  squares,  the  memorial  statues,  the 
armory,  where  the  mail-clad  wooden  knights  sit  si 
lently  on  their  mail-clad  wooden  horses,  and  they 
drove  out  at  last  to  Moncalieri,  in  the  cool  of  the 
evening.  The  confidential  servant  sat  on  the  box 
and  directed  the  driver,  pointing  out  to  Diana  and 
Marcantonio  the  various  objects  of  interest,  so  that 
Carantoni  suspected  nothing.  The  man  acted  his 
part  perfectly. 

"  How  charming  it  is  here !  "  exclaimed  Marc- 


TO  LEEWARD.  377 

antonio,  admiring  the  trees,  and  the  life,  and  the 
gay  colors  at  Moncalieri.  "  Why  did  we  not  think 
of  coming  here  before,  ma  chere  ?"  He  spoke  in 
French,  which  he  rarely  did  with  his  sister,  though 
he  had  always  done  so  with  his  wife.  Diana  hardly 
noticed  it  at  the  moment,  —  she  was  obliged  to  an 
swer  something. 

"  It  was  hardly  the  right  season  for  it  before 
this,  I  suppose,"  said  she.  "  But  now  we  can  stay 
as  long  as  we  please." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  he,  in  his  old  way,  "  if  it  is 
agreeable  to  you,  I  ask  nothing  better.  It  is  infi 
nitely  more  pleasant  than  Sorrento.  I  never  liked 
Sorrento,  I  cannot  tell  why.  It  never  wholly  agreed 
with  you,  mon  ange  —  riest-ce-pas  ?  " 

"  I  was  always  well  there,  —  well  enough,  at 
least,"  answered  Diana,  puzzled  at  this  new  phase 
of  his  humor. 

"  Ah  no,  you  were  never  well  after  Diana  left 
us.  She  is  so  good,  she  makes  every  one  well !  " 
He  spoke  pleasantly  and  naturally. 

It  was  horrible,  and  Diana  started  with  a  new 
realization  of  his  state.  He  no  longer  recognized 
persons,  —  he  took  her  for  Leonora  ! 

But  some  new  object  attracted  his  attention,  and 
he  cnattered  on,  almost  to  himself,  almost  child 
ishly,  but  with  a  sweet  smile  on  his  pale,  delicate 
face.  Diana  could  scarcely  restrain  her  tears,  — 
she  who  had  not  wept  for  years  until  lately  ! 

Poor  Diana!  Batiscombe  and  Leonora  were 
sinfully,  wholly,  happy  with  each  other,  —  Batis- 


378  TO   LEEWARD. 

combe  selfishly  so,  perhaps,  but  none  the  less  for 
that,  and  Leonora  with  a  wild  delight  in  her  new 
life,  that  swallowed  up  the  past  and  gilded  the 
present.  Even  poor,  crazy  Marcantonio,  chattering 
and  making  small  French  jokes  about  the  people's 
dresses  at  Moncalieri,  was  happy  for  the  moment. 
Only  Diana,  the  brave  woman  who  had  fought  for 
the  right  so  well,  seemed  cut  off  from  it  all,  bearing 
the  whole  burden  on  her  shoulders,  and  silently 
bowing  her  queenly  head  to  the  storm  of  woe  and 
grief  and  destruction. 


CHAPTER    XXIII.       - 

DIANA  would  have  taken  her  brother  away  from 
Turin  if  she  could,  but  there  was  a  danger  that 
the  mere  suggestion  might  revive  the  fixed  idea 
that  had  driven  him  mad.  His  illusions  had  not 
the  absolutely  permanent  character  that  is  the  most 
hopeless.  For  instance,  on  the  evening  of  the  very 
day  when  he  had  called  his  sister  by  his  wife's 
name,  he  had  known  Diana  perfectly  well,  and  had 
sat  for  an  hour  talking  about  old  times  with  her. 
Whether,  at  such  moments,  he  had  any  recollection 
of  recent  occurrences,  would  be  hard  to  say;  and 
the  doctor  advised  for  the  present  that  he  should 
have  perfect  quiet  and  should  be  allowed  to  amuse 
himself  and  to  be  amused  in  any  way  which  seemed 
best.  In  the  course  of  a  day  or  two  the  doctor  saw 
him,  coming  on  pretence  of  seeing  Madame  de 
Charleroi.  He  felt  now,  he  said,  from  Marcan- 
tonio's  manner,  that  he  would  recover  before  long, 
though  his  memory  concerning  the  circumstances  of 
the  time  when  he  was  insane  would  probably  be 
very  uncertain. 

But  Diana  felt  relieved  at  this  and  devoted  her 
time  to  her  brother  from  morning  till  night,  read 
ing  to  him,  driving  with  him,  or  talking  to  him  as 
the  case  might  be.  She  could  do  nothing  more  for 


380  TO  LEEWARD. 

the  present.  Turin  is  a  pleasant  city  enough,  the 
weather  was  not  excessively  hot,  and  the  hotel  was 
large  and  comfortable.  In  the  course  of  time  it 
would  be  possible  to  move  Carantoni  and  take  him 
to  Paris,  but  at  present  any  sudden  change  of  place 
or  surroundings  was  to  be  deprecated. 

A  week  passed  in  this  way,  and  Diana  grew  pale 
with  the  constant  strain  of  anxiety,  and  the  great 
dark  rings  circled  her  gray  eyes.  But  she  bore 
bravely  up,  and  rose  each  day  with  strength  to  do 
what  lay  before  her.  She  wrote  to  her  husband, 
and  he  offered  at  once  to  come  and  help  her  to  take 
care  of  Marcantonio,  but  she  would  not  let  him 
come,  fearing  the  effect  of  a  new  face, — even  that 
of  an  old  friend  like  Charleroi.  She  received  all 
the  letters  that  came  to  her  brother,  and  was  sur 
prised  that  there  were  no  communications  from  the 
detectives  he  had  employed.  The  fact  was  that 
Marcantonio  had  given  a  separate  address  to  them, 
and  as  they  discovered  nothing,  after  the  manner 
of  most  detectives,  they'  only  systematically  tele 
graphed  that  they  had  confidence  of  being  on  the 
track.  The  telegrams  were  addressed  to  another 
hotel,  and  were  dropped  into  the  box  for  unclaimed 
letters  and  were  never  heard  of  again.  Diana  knew 
that  business  communications  woidd  be  harmless  in 
Marcantonio's  present  state,  and  when  any  came 
she  let  him  have  them.  He  would  read  them  over 
and  often  discuss  with  her  the  information  they 
contained,  and  at  last  he  would  let  her  answer 
them,  saying  it  was  very  good  of  her  to  save  him  so 
much  trouble. 


TO   LEE  WARD.  381 

All  these  letters  came  from  Rome,  being  for 
warded  by  the  steward  who  lived  at-  the  Palazzo 
Carantoni  and  managed  the  business  of  the  house 
hold.  Others  came,  re-directed  over  the  original 
address,  from  friends  in  different  parts  of  the 
country,  and  these  Diana  carefully  put  aside  un 
opened,  fearing  always  that  some  passing  refer 
ence  or  message  to  Leonora  might  disturb  him  and 
bring  on  a  fresh  outbreak.  She  could  always  distin 
guish  the  business  letters,  because  they  were  either 
directed  in  the  handwriting  of  the  steward,  or  they 
bore  the  outward  and  visible  printed  address  of 
the  lawyer,  farmer,  or  merchant,  from  whom  they 
came. 

In  the  week  they  had  spent  in  Turin  there  had 
been  already  twenty  or  thirty  communications  of 
various  kinds.  Poor  Marcantonio  never  knew  that 
his  sister  sorted  the  mail  for  him.  It  was  brought 
to  him  by  the  confidential  servant,  and  he  always 
took  it  and  went  to  his  room  with  an  air  of  £reat 

O 

importance  to  "  get  through  his  business,"  as  he  ex 
pressed  it.  He  was  evidently  proud  of  doing  it, 
showing  that  unaccountable  vanity  in  small  things 
which  characterizes  so  many  lunatics.  Indeed,  he 
had  always  been  proud  of  his  attention  to  details, 
and  now  it  became  a  sort  of  passion,  though  he  was 
never  able  to  carry  out  his  intentions,  and  always 
left  the  unfinished  work  to  Diana. 

On  the  fourth  of  September  Julius  Batiscombe's 
letter,  directed  to  Marcantonio  in  Rome,  had  come 
back  to  Turin.  Julius  had  marked  it  "  very 


382  TO  LEEWARD. 

urgent,"  and  the  steward  had  looked  at  it,  had 
thought  Batiscombe's  handwriting  indistinct,  and 
to  secure  greater  certainty  had  put  it  into  another 
envelops  and  directed  it  in  his  own  business-like 
way.  The  consequence  was  that  it  was  mistaken 
for  a  common  business  letter,  and  handed  to  Marc- 
antonio  with  the  rest. 

It  seemed  to  be  the  last  blow  that  an  evil  fate 
could  strike  at  the  unhappy  man,  and  it  was  a 
terrible  one  in  itself  and  in  its  consequences. 

He  sat  at  his  table  by  the  window,  opening  one 
letter  after  another,  and  looking  over  the  contents 
with  a  pleased  expression,  a  little  vacant  perhaps, 
but  not  altogether  without  intelligence.  There  was 
a  lacuna  in  his  mind,  and  sometimes  he  was  con 
scious  of  being  confused  by  faces  and  things  about 
him,  but  he  was  still  capable  of  understanding  the 
questions  about  his  estates,  and  farms,  and  build 
ings,  though  he  always  seemed  to  lack  the  energy 
to  write  the  directions  with  his  own  hand. 

He  turned  over  the  sheets  and  folded  each  one 
neatly  and  put  it  back  into  its  particular  envelope. 
Then  he  opened  the  one  from  the  steward,  and 
found  in  it  a  letter  directed  to  Rome  in  a  strange 
hand. 

He  held  it  in  his  fingers  with  a  puzzled  look  for 
a  moment ;  it  seemed  as  though  one  letter  had  sud 
denly  become  two.  Then  he  understood  and  smiled 
a  little  sadly  at  his  own  weakness  of  comprehen 
sion,  and  broke  the  seal. 

The  effect  was  not  instantaneous.     He  read  it 


TO  LEEWARD.  383 

over  again,  and  a  third  time,  his  face  still  vacant, 
and  he  put  his  hand  to  his  head  trying  and  striving 
with  all  his  might  to  remember.  The  week  of  in 
sanity  had  done  its  work  and  Diana  need  not  have 
feared  that  he  would  be  easily  recalled  to  an  under 
standing  of  the  past.  But  it  was  not  wholly  gone 
yet ;  he  would  try  to  remember.  He  rose  to  his 
feet,  and  perhaps  the  slight  physical  effort  helped 
to  stir  his  dull  mind. 

Suddenly  he  trembled  violently  from  head  to  foot, 
and  his  color  changed  from  the  natural  complexion 
it  had  taken  of  late  to  a  deadly  pallor.  For  an 
instant  his  whole  nature  seemed  to  be  convulsed, 
he  reeled  to  and  fro  and  caught  himself  by  the 
heavy  frame  of  his  bedstead,  staring  wildly  about, 
and  fell  backwards  across  the  pillows,  clutching 
the  counterpane  to  right  and  left  of  him  with  his 
two  hands,  his  face  distorted  and  horrible  to  see. 

It  only  lasted  for  a  moment,  and  he  regained  his 
feet,  stood  still  for  a  few  seconds,  and  passed  his 
hands  across  his  eyes  and  seemed  at  once  to  recover 
his  faculties.  He  took  Batiscombe's  letter  agfain 

O 

and  read  it  over,  as  though  fixing  the  few  words 
and  the  address  in  his  mind.  The  vacant  expres 
sion  of  ten  minutes  ago  had  changed  to  a  look  of 
supernatural  intelligence  and  cunning.  He  put 
the  letter  in  J^is  pocket  and  sat  down  at  the  table. 
He  opened  some  of  the  envelopes  again  and  scat 
tered  the  papers  about,  eying  the  effect  rather 
critically.  He  then  took  his  dressing-case,  opened 
it,  and  removed  one  small  tray,  and  then  a  second. 


384  TO  LEEWARD. 

In  the  bottom  of  the  box  was  a  revolver,  bright 
and  ready,  with  all  its  appurtenances,  a  few  cart 
ridges  lying  loose  in  their  little  compartment.  The 
weapon  was  loaded,  but  he  carefully  opened  it  and 
examined  each  chamber,  turning  it  round  slowly 
by  the  light.  It  was  not  a  large  pistol,  and  when 
he  was  sure  that  it  was  in  order,  he  put  it  carefully 
into  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat,  and  surveyed  the 
effect  in  the  glass.  No  one  would  have  suspected 
that  he  was  armed. 

He  saw  that  his  hat  was  ready  in  its  place,  and 
he  rang  the  bell  and  sat  down  at  his  table  once 
more,  holding  a  letter  in  his  hand,  as  though  read 
ing.  The  confidential  servant  appeared. 

"  Will  you  please  to  bring  me  a  lemonade  ?  " 
said  Marcantonio,  with  perfectly^  natural  intona 
tion.  The  man  bowed  and  retired  to  execute  the 
order.  His  master  seemed  better  than  usual,  he 
thought ;  the  appearance  of  the  papers  and  Caran- 
toni's  bland  smile  had  completely  deceived  him. 

As  soon  as  he  was  alone  he  took  his  hat,  felt 
that  he  had  his  purse  in  his  pocket,  and  opened  the 
door  to  the  sitting-room.  Diana  was  not  there,  for 
she  generally  wrote  her  own  letters  until  Marcan 
tonio  appeared  with  his  correspondence,  asking  her 
to  answer  it  for  him.  The  servant  was  gone  to  get 
the  lemonade  and  Marcantonio  slipped  quietly  out 
on  tiptoe. 

Once  upon  the  main  staircase  of  the  hotel  he  ran 
nimbly  down,  humming  a  little  tune  in  a  jaunty 
fashion,  to  show  everybody  that  he  was  at  his  ease. 


TO  LEEWARD.  385 

Of  course  the  people  in  the  house  had  no  idea  that 
he  was  insane.  It  had  been  Diana's  chiefest  care 
to  conceal  the  fact  from  every  one ;  and  Marcaiito- 
nio  walked  calmly  past  the  porter's  lodge  into  the 
street,  and  took  a  cab.  It  was  nearly  midday  and 
the  thoroughfares  were  less  crowded  than  in  the 
morning  and  evening;  the  cab  flew  rapidly  over 
the  smooth  pavement  to  the  station. 

There  are  many  trains  to  Cuneo  in  the  summer 
season,  and  before  very  long  Carantoni  found  him 
self  in  a  smoking-carriage  with  three  or  four  men, 
all  reading  the  papers  and  smoking  long,  black 
cigars  with  straws  in  them.  He  lit  a  cigarette, 
bought  a  paper  just  as  the  guard  was  closing  the 
doors,  and  he  rolled  out  of  the  station,  looking  just 
like  anybody  else.  He  pretended  to  read,  and  no 
one  noticed  him. 

When  the  servant  returned  with  the  lemonade 
and  found  that  Marcantonio  was  gone,  he  did  not 
suspect  what  was  the  matter,  but  put  the  glass  on 
the  table  and  went  back  to  the  antechamber  and 
waited  at  his  post.  He  waited  a  few  minutes  and 
then  knocked  at  Diana's  door,  and  asked  if  the 
signore  were  with  her. 

"  No,"  said  Diana  quickly,  and  came  out  into  the 
sitting-room  in  her  loose  morning  gown.  "  Whero 
is  he  ?  Is  he  not  in  his  room  ?  He  never  comes 
into  mine." 

She  went  to  his  door  and  knocked. 

"  He  is  not  there,"  said  the  man,  who  by  this 
time  was  thoroughly  frightened.  "  He  sent  me  for 

25 


38G  TO  LEEWARD.    ' 

a  lemonade.  He  looked  better  than  usual,  and  was 
sitting  just  there,  at  his  table,  reading  his  letters. 
When  I  came  back  he  was  gone.  He  seemed  en 
tirely  himself,  better  than  I  have  ever  seen  him." 

Diana  was  frightened  and  puzzled.  After  all  it 
was  quite  possible  that  Marcantonio  had  taken  it 
into  his  head  to  go  out  by  himself.  He  had  never 
suggested  such  a  thing  yet,  and  always  seemed  un 
willing  to  cross  the  threshold  alone  ;  but  since  he 
was  so  much  better  that  day,  he  might  have  gone 
out.  It  was  possible.  She  would  not  have  believed 
that  without  some  immediate  cause  he  could  have 
fallen  back  into  a  remembrance  of  his  troubles  ; 
for  she  had  studied  his  moods  very  carefully,  and 
was  convinced  that,  as  the  doctor  said,  there  would 
always  be  a  blank  in  his  mind  now,  destroying  the 
memory  of  those  three  or  four  days.  She  glanced 
hastily  over  the  papers  on  the  table.  They  were 
all  of  the  usual  sort,  for  Marcantonio  had  taken 
Batiscombe's  letter*  with  him. 

Nevertheless,  she  was  very  much  frightened,  and 
was  angry  with  the  confidential  servant  for  not 
having  sent  some  one  else  to  get  the  lemonade. 
She  lost  no  time  in  despatching  him  to  make  in 
quiries.  He  was  really  an  active  man,  and  under 
stood  his  business  thoroughly,  but  Marcantonio's 
manner  had  completely  deceived  him,  and  he  had 
conscientiously  thought  his  charge  perfectly  safe. 
Maniacs  have  more  than  once  deceived  their  keep 
ers,  and  their  doctors,  and  Marcantonio  seemed  to 
have  fallen  into  a  very  different  sort  of  madness  — 


TO  LEEWARD.  887 

rather  foolish  and  gentle  than  cunning  and  dan 
gerous.  . 

The  servant  soon  discovered  that  Marcantonio 
had  passed  the  porter's  lodge  and  had  taken  a  cab, 
not  many  minutes  before  ;  but  no  one  had  heard  the 
order  he  gave  to  the  driver.  There  were  no  more 
carriages  on  the  stand.  The  man  lost  no  time  but 
ran  down  the  street  till  he  found  one,  and  was 
driven  to  the  station,  as  he  was,  bareheaded  and 
clothed  in  a  dress-coat  and  a  white  tie,  after  the 
manner  of  hotel  servants  in  the  morning.  His  ex 
perience  told  him  that  crazy  people  generally  made 
for  the  railway  when  they  escaped.  But  he  was 
too  late.  A  train  had  just  left  —he  made  anxious 
inquiries  of  every  one,  describing  Marcantonio's 
clothes  and  jewelry,  which  he  knew  by  heart.  No 
one  had  noticed  him.  He  might  not  have  come  to 
the  station  after  all. 

But  a  dirty  little  boy  elbowed  his  way  through 
the  crowd  of  railway  porters  and  guards  that  soon 
surrounded  the  man,  and  the  boy  listened. 

"  Had  that  signorc  a  great  ring  on  his  finger, 
with  a  black  stone  in  it,  and  a  red  one  on  each 
side  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  cried  the  confidential  servant.  "You 
have  seen  him  ?  "  He  seized  the  small  boy  by  the 
arm  and  held  him  fast. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  little  fellow ;  "  but  you  have  no 
need  to  pinch  me  like  that.  I  sold  him  a  paper, 
and  he  gave  me  a  silver  half-franc,  and  I  noticed 
his  fingers  and  his  ring." 


388  TO  LEEWARD. 

The  servant  released  him. 

Some  one  else  had  noticed  the  ring,  which  was 
very  large  and  brilliant,  —  a  great  sapphire  with  a 
ruby  on  each  side  of  it.  The  individual  remem 
bered  hearing  the  gentleman  ask  for  the  train  to 
Cuneo.  The  confidential  servant  rushed  back  to 
the  hotel,  after  ascertaining  that  there  would  not 
be  another  train  for  two  hours. 

He  told  Diana  what  he  had  learned,  and  she 
listened  attentively.  She  was  pale  and  quiet,  and 
she  did  not  reproach  the  man  again.  It  was  of  no 
use  now.  She  had  dressed  herself,  and  she  sent 
for  a  cab ;  and  then  she  also  was  driven  to  the  sta 
tion,  the  man  accompanying  her.  She  did  not 
speak  except  to  give  her  orders. 

She  went  at  once  to  the  station-master,  an  ex 
tremely  civil  individual  with  a  great  deal  of  silver 
lace. 

"  Can  you  give  me  a  special  train  to  Cuneo  at 
once  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  station-master  was  in  despair,  he  said.  There 
was  only  a  single  track,  and  it  would  be  impossible 
to  arrange  the  line  at  such  short  notice.  He  bowed, 
and  looked  grave,  and  put  everything  in  the  station 
at  the  disposal  of  the  magnificent  lady  who  ordered 
special  trains  as  other  people  order  cabs.  But  he 
could  do  nothing.  Diana  hesitated.  Something 
must  be  done  at  once. 

"  My  brother,"  she  said,  "  took  the  last  train  to 
Cuneo,  and  I  desire  to  stop  him.  He  —  he  is 


TO   LEEWARD.  389 

It  was  a  hard  thing  to  have  to  tell  a  stranger,  a 
railway  official,  and  Diana  was  whiter  than  death 
as  she  said  it.  She  would  rather  have  put  a  knife 
into  her  heart. 

The  station-master  was  graver  and  more  polite 
than  ever.  He  could  telegraph  to  all  the  stations 
to  have  the  passengers  watched  as  they  descended. 
AVould  she  give  him  a  description,  —  the  name, 
perhaps  ? 

It  had  to  be  done.  She  gave  the  details,  and 
the  telegram  was  sent.  Meanwhile  she  sat  in  the 
station-master's  private  office,  to  wait  for  more  than 
an  hour  until  the  next  train  should  be  ready. 

The  consequence  of  all  this  was  that  when  Marc- 
antonio  finally  reached  his  destination,  he  was  po 
litely  asked,  in  company  with  the  other  passengers, 
whether  he  had  seen  or  heard  of  an  insane  gentle 
man  called  the  Marchese  Carantoni.  But  his  new 
ly-found  cunning  did  not  desert  him.  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  said  he  did  not  know  the  gentle 
man.  He  himself  looked  so  quiet  and  dignified, 
that  no  one  could  have  suspected  him  of  being  the 
person,  and  the  short  description  telegraphed  would 
have  answered  to  hundreds  of  Italians  all  over  the 
country.  He  had,  of  course,  expected  to  be  pur 
sued,  as  lunatics  often  do,  and  he  was  prepared  to 
baffle  every  attempt.  His  quiet  look  and  frank 
smile  were  a  perfect  passport.  He  even  inquired 
of  a  porter  at  the  station  how  he  could  best  reach 
the  Certosa  di  Pesio ;  and  the  man  told  him  it  was 
an  hour's  drive  or  more,  and  got  him  a  little  car- 


390  TO    LEEWARD. 

riage  for  the  journey,  and  received  a  few  sous  for 
Iris  pains. 

Marcantonio  leaned  back  against  the  moth-eaten 
cushions  and  smoked  a  cigarette  and  looked  at  the 
scenery.  He  hummed  a  little  tune  occasionally, 
and,  when  the  dirty  driver  was  not  looking,  he  put 
his  hand  into  his  breast  pocket,  and  felt  that  his 
pistol  was  in  its  place,  and  then  the  cunning  smile 
passed  over  his  features. 

He  had  managed  it  all  so  well,  —  there  could  be 
no  mistake  about  it.  He  chuckled  as  he  thought 

o 

how  Batiscornbe  would  expect  to  receive  the  visit 
of  a  third  party,  and  would  thus  be  suddenly 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  principal.  He  thought 
he  could  anticipate  just  how  Batiscombe  would  look, 
and  he  revelled  for  a  while  in  the  contemplation  of 
his  hatred.  He  had  forgotten  nothing  now,  except 
that  he  had  ever  forgotten  his  vengeance  for  a  mo 
ment. 

On  and  on  he  rolled  in  his  rattling  little  cab. 
Through  a  long  and  gradually-ascending  valley, 
thickly  clothed  with  chestnut  trees  of  mighty  growth. 
By  the  roadside  ran  a  stream,  that  gradually  be 
came  a  torrent  as  the  inclination  of  its  course  grew 
steeper,  and  the  road  wound  up  towards  the  source. 
Here  and  there  the  water  fell  over  a  natural  weir 
of  dark-brown  rock,  forming  a  deep  pool  below, 
where  the  trout  lurked  in  the  shadow.  Again  the 
thick  woods  receded  a  little  on  each  side,  and  the 
bed  of  the  stream,  now  shallow  from  the  summer 
heat,  grew  broad  and  stony ;  and  further  on  there 


TO  LEEWARD.  391 

was  a  bit  of  grassy  bank  overhung  with  many  trees, 
and  the  small  river  swept  smoothly  round. 

Suddenly  the  carriage  drew  up  before  an  old 
stone  gateway  that  seemed  to  start  out  of  the  fo 
liage,  and  there  was  a  noise  as  of  a  deep  fall  of 
water,  at  once  wild  and  smooth.  Marcantonio  had 
reached  the  Carthusian  monastery  at  last.  His 
purpose  was  almost  accomplished. 

It  is  a  strange  building  in  a  marvellous  situation. 
Those  old  monks  knew  where  to  live,  as  they  have 
always  known  in  all  ages  and  countries,  —  from 
the  priests  of  Egypt  to  the  monks  of  Buddha,  from 
the  Benedictines  of  Subiaco  to  the  holy  men  of 
ancient  Mexico,  they  have  all  reared  spacious  dwel 
lings  in  chosen  sites,  where  the  body  might  live  in 
peace  and  the  soul  be  raised,  by  contemplating  the 
beauties  of  the  earth,  to  the  imagination  of  the 
beauties  of  heaven.  They  were  wise  old  men ;  some 
of  them  were  good,  and  some  bad,  as  happens  in  all 
communities  in  the  world  ;  but  they  were  men  who 
did  the  earth  good  in  their  day,  and  found  out  the 
places  that  have  often  become  cities  in  our  times, 
whereby  hundreds  of  thousands  of  souls  have 
profited  by  their  choice. 

The  Certosa  di  Pesio,  where  Julius  and  Leonora 
had  taken  up  their  abode  for  a  time,  is  turned  into 
an  establishment  for  cold-water  cures.  There  are 
generally  some  fifty  or  sixty  people  there  from 
Turin  and  the  neighborhood  who  take  the  baths,  or 
not,  as  they  please,  and  lead  a  pleasant  life  for 
a  few  months  in  the  great  cloistered  courts,  and 


392  TO  LEEWARD. 

the  bright  gardens,  and  out  in  the  endless  chest 
nut  woods.  A  cool  breath  of  the  Alps  blows  down 
the  valley,  and  the  rush  of  the  water,  dammed  up 
by  a  strong  weir  of  ancient  masonry,  and  contin 
ually  pouring  down  in  a  steady,  musical  roar,  per 
vades  all  the  cool  rooms  and  the  sounding  halls  and 
passages.  It  is  an  ideal  place  for  the  summer, 
almost  unknown  to  foreigners.  It  is  no  wonder 
that  Julius  had  thought  it  the  very  spot  for  Leo 
nora  to  rest  in  until  the  heat  was  over.  A  little 
way  from  the  buildings,  up  the  valley,  a  dilapidated 
summer-house  overhangs  the  stream.  Sitting  there 
you  can  see  the  whole  wonderful  outline  of  the 
convent  buildings,  crowned  with  chimneys  which 
the  old  monk-architects  seem  to  have  delighted  in 
greatly,  giving  them  a  variety  of  strange  and  gro 
tesque  shapes  such  as  I  never  saw  anywhere  else. 
Julius  and  Leonora  used  often  to  come  to  the  old 
summer-house  in  the  afternoon,  with  their  books, 
which  were  seldom  called  into  requisition,  and  they 
would  sit  side  by  side  for  hours,  till  the  evening 
sun  warmed  the  colors  of  the  pine-trees  on  the 
heights  to  a  green-gold,  and  reddened  the  far-off 
snows  of  Monte  Kosa  with  the  last,  loving  touch 
of  his  departing  light. 

An  obsequious  individual  came  forward  from 
the  archway  as  Marcantonio  drove  up  to  the  gate. 
Marcantonio  eyed  him,  and  perceived  that  he  was 
a  functionary  of  the  pension. 

"Is  there  an  English  gentleman  here?"  he 
asked,  —  "a  certain  Signor  Giulio  Batiscombe ? " 


TO  LEEWARD.  393 

His  voice  was  very  calm,  and  had  a  certain  suavity 
in  its  tones  ;  he  smiled,  too,  as  he  asked  the  ques 
tion. 

"  Si,  signore,"  answered  the  man,  bowing  and 
gesticulating  toward  the  building.  "  Certainly.  A 
handsome  signore,  with  his  wife  —  both  Inglesi. 
They  arrived  on  the  thirty-first  of  last  month  — 
five  days.  Will  the  signore  do  the  favor  to  come 
in  ?  I  will  inquire  whether  the  English  gentleman 
is  at  home." 

The  slightest  shade  passed  over  Marcantonio's 
face  at  the  mention  of  the  wife  in  the  case.  But 
the  man  would  not  have  noticed  it.  Marcaiitonio 
felt  sure  he  had  not  betrayed  himself. 

"  I  will  wait  here,"  said  he,  "  while  you  inquire." 

The  man  disappeared,  and  Marcantonio  was 
alone.  He  looked  up  at  the  windows  in  the  gray 
walls,  and  saw  no  one.  Nevertheless,  at  any  mo 
ment  Batiscombe  might  appear  —  from  the  house 
or  from  the  woods  —  he  might  be  taking  a  walk. 
It  seemed  a  very  long  time  to  wait. 

He  put  his  hand  into  his  breast  pocket.  The 
stock  of  the  revolver  just  curved  over  the  edge  of 
the  cloth  inside  his  coat ;  he  could  get  at  it  without 
trouble.  He  longed  to  take  it  out  and  examine  it ; 
to  see  whether  it  were  still  in  perfect  order ;  and 
he  peeped  in  when  the  driver  was  not  looking,  just 
to  catch  a  sight  of  the  lock  and  the  bright  barrel. 
Then  he  smiled  to  himself,  and  hummed  a  tune,  as 
suming  an  air  of  quiet  indifference  —  acting  all  the 
time,  as  only  madmen  can  act,  as  though  he  were 


394  TO  LEEWARD. 

on  the  stage  before  a  great  audience.  It  was  only 
for  the  benefit  of  the  driver  of  his  little  carriage,  a 
rough  fellow,  who  had  not  shaved  for  a  week,  and 
wore  a  dirty  linen  jacket,  his  hands  black  and  his 
eyes  red  with  the  wine  of  the  night  before  —  that 
was  the  audience  ;  but  Marcantonio  acted  his  part 
with  as  much  care  as  though  he  were  in  the  pres 
ence  of  Batiscombe  himself.  There  must  not  be 
the  smallest  chance  of  an  interruption  to  his  plan. 

At  last  the  man  returned,  bowing  with  renewed 
zeal.  He  came  forward  with  one  hand  extended, 
as  though  to  help  Marcantonio  to  alight. 

"  The  English  signore  is  in  the  garden,"  he  said. 
Marcantonio  smiled  more  sweetly  than  ever  and  got 
out  of  his  conveyance. 

"  You  can  wait,"  he  said  to  the  driver,  and  the 
latter  touched  his  battered  straw  hat. 

Marcantonio  followed  the  man  through  a  great 
court,  where  there  were  trees,  into  a  long,  tiled  pas 
sage  that  seemed  to  run  through  the  house,  and,  on 
the  other  side,  he  emerged  into  a  garden,  thick  with 
laurel-trees  and  geraniums.  The  man  led  the  way. 
Marcantonio's  hand  crept  stealthily  into  his  breast 
pocket  underneath  his  coat,  ,and  raised  the  lock  of 
the  revolver  very  slowly.  The  man  in  front  did 
not  hear  the  small,  sharp  click. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  asked  Marcantonio,  very  gently, 
still  smiling  an  unnaturally  sweet  smile.  The  ser 
vant  had  stopped  and  was  looking  about. 

"  I  was  told  they  were  here,"  said  he  ;  "  but  they 
must  be  in  the  summer-house  outside." 


TO  LEEWARD.  395 

Again  he  led  the  way  to  a  small  door  in  the  gar 
den  wall.  It  was  open. 

"  There  they  are,  signore,"  said  he,  pointing  with 
his  finger  and  standing  aside  to  let  Marcantonio 
pass. 

He  looked,  and  saw  two  people  sitting  in  the 
dilapidated  old  bower  above  the  water,  not  twenty 
yards  from  where  he  stood. 

It  was  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Diana  had 
taken  the  train  at  two,  and  could  not  reach  Cuneo 
till  six.  Even  then  she  would  not  know  where  to 
go  without  many  inquiries. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

LEONORA'S  utter   recklessness  of   delight  could 

o 

not  last  very  long.  It  was  a  strange  mood,  as  un 
natural  and  uncontrollable  at  first  as  her  husband's 
madness.  She  could  not  help  enjoying  to  the  ut 
most  the  new  life  that  .had  so  suddenly  begun  for 
her.  She  knew  in  her  heart  that  she  had  bought 
it  at  a  great  price,  and  she  knew  that  she  must 
make  the  most  of  it,  or  she  would  have  to  reproach 
herself  with  the  bargain. 

It  was  easy  enough  at  first.  The  quick  change 
had  thrown  all  her  thoughts  into  a  new  channel. 
From  the  midnight  departure  she  had  no  more 
time  to  think,  until  the  long,  quiet  days  at  Pesio. 
There  were  moments  when  she  was  on  the  verge  of 

O 

thinking,  of  remembering  the  past,  and  wondering 
how  her  husband  had  acted.  But  she  felt  that  it 
would  be  very  unpleasant  to  reflect  on  these  things. 
It  might  take  her  a  long  time  to  get  out  of  the 
train  of  thought,  as  it  used  to  do  long  ago  when 
ever  she  had  one  of  her  fits  of  philosophical  de 
spair  ;  she  was  able  to  put  it  off,  and  she  seemed 
to  be  saying  to  herself,  "  I  shall  have  time  to  think 
about  it,  and  to  satisfy  my  conscience  by  feeling 
the  proper  amount  of  regret  by  and  by." 

Of  course  she  did  not  say  so  much  in  so  many 


TO  LEEWARD.  397 

words,  but  the  unconscious  excuse  for  what  she 
knew  an  unprejudiced  outsider  would  call  her 
heartlessness  went  on  presenting  itself  whenever 
she  felt  the  beginning  of  a  regret.  Deeper  even 
than  that,  and  almost  hidden  in  the  sea  of  self- 
deception,  and  passion,  and  riotous  love  of  life,  lay 
the  reef  on  which  the  ship  of  her  happiness  would 
some  day  go  to  pieces  —  the  ultimate  knowledge  of 
the  wrong  she  had  done,  and  of  her  own  cruelty  to 
Marcantonio  and  weakness  to  herself. 

But  in  Pesio  the  time  came  ;  terribly  soon,  she 
thought,  though  her  suffering  was  only  at  its  be 
ginning.  Each  morning  brought  a  dull  sense  of 
pain,  that  came  in  her  dreams  and  became  the 
terror  of  her  waking.  She  knew  before  she  opened 
her  eyes  that  it  was  there,  and  the  first  returning 
consciousness  was  the  certainty  of  sorrow.  It  soon 
wore  away,  it  is  true,  but  she  grew  to  dread  it  as 
she  had  never  dreaded  anything  in  her  short,  luxu 
rious  life.  It  needed  all  her  strength  and  energy 
to  shake  off  the  impression,  and  it  required  all 
Batiscombe's  love  and  thoughtful  care  to  make  it 
seem  possible  to  live  the  hours  until  the  evening. 

That  was  in  the  morning,  in  the  brief  moments 
when  Leonora,  like  most  of  us,  had  not  yet  silenced 
her  soul,  and  trodden  it  under  for  the  day ;  and  it 
spoke  bitter  truth  and  scorn  to  her,  so  that  she 
could  hardly  bear  it.  Then,  at  last,  she  was  honest. 
There  was  no  more  self-deception  then,  no  more 
possibility  of  believing  that  she  had  done  well  in 
leaving  all  for  Julius  ;  she  could  no  longer  say  that 


398  TO  LEEWARD. 

for  so  much  love's  sake  it  was  right  and  noble  to 
spurn    away  the    world, — for  the  world    came    to 
mean  her  husband,  her  father  and  her  mother,  and 
she  saw  and  knew  too  clearly  what  each  and  all 
of  them  must  suffer.     Their  pale  faces  came  to  her 
in  her  dreams,  and  their  sad  voices  spoke  to  her 
the  reproach  of  all  reproaches  that  can  be  uttered 
against   a  woman.     Her  husband   she  bad  never 
loved  ;  but  in  spite  of  all  her  reasoning  she  knew 
that  he  had  loved  her,  and  she  understood  enough 
of   his  pride  and    single-hearted  nobility  to  guess 
what  he  must  suffer  while  she  dragged  his  ancient 
name   in   the   dust  of   dishonor.     Her  father  was 
never  to  her  mind  ;  for  he  was  a  Philistine  of  the 
kind  that  have  hard  shells  and  very  little  that  is 
soft  or  warm  within  them ;  but  she  knew  that  he 
had  treasured  her  as  the  apple  of  his  eye,  and  that 
his  old  heart  would  break  for  his  daughter's  shame. 
Her  mother  was  a  worldly  woman,  loving  Leonora 
because  she  had  obtained  a  success  in  society,  and 
upbraiding  her  with  never  making  the  most  of  it ; 
but  Leonora  knew  hjw  her  mother's  vanity  must 
be  bowed  and  trampled  down  by  the  deep  disgrace, 
and  that  her  vanity  was  almost  all  she  had  of  hap 
piness. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  after  a  little  time 
the  old  tax-gatherer,  Remorse,  began  to  put  Leo 
nora  in  distress  for  his  dues,  and  she  was  forced  to 
pay  them  or  have  110  peace.  He  came  in  the  gray 
of  the  morning,  when  she  was  not  yet  prepared, 
and  he  sat  by  her  head  and  oppressed  it  with  heavi- 


TO  LEEWARD.  399 

ness  and  the  leaden  cowl  of  sorrow :  and  each  day 
she  counted  the  minutes  until  he  was  gone,  and 
each  day  they  were  more. 

Julius  saw  and  pondered,  for  he  guessed  what 
she  suffered,  and  understood  now  her  terrible  reck 
lessness  at  the  first.  All  that  a  lover  could  do  he 
did,  and  more  also,  employing  every  resource  of  his 
great  mind  to  fight  the  enemy,  and  always  with 
success.  He  could  always  bring  the  smile  and  the 
brightness  of  glad  life  to  her  face  at  last,  and  when 
once  his  dominion  was  established  there  was  no  re 
turn  of  sorrow  possible  for  that  day ;  his  stupendous 
vitality  and  brilliant,  overflowing  strength  fought 
down  the  shadows  and  chased  them  out. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  of  September,  Leo 
nora  and  Julius  were  walking  together  in  the  chest 
nut  woods  near  the  monastery.  She  had  been  less 
sad  than  usual  at  her  first  waking,  and  Julius  hoped 
that  the  time  was  coming  when  she  could  at  last 
feel  accustomed  to  her  new  position  and  would 
cease  to  be  troubled  with  the  ghosts  of  the  past. 
He  was  over-confident,  and  thought  he  understood 
her  better  than  he  really  did.  He  was  laughing 
and  talking  gayly  enough,  enjoying  her  happy  mood 
and  the  freshness  and  beauty  of  the  bountiful  na 
ture  around  him. 

Julius  stopped  from  time  to,  time  and  picked  a 
few  wild  flowers  that  grew  amongst  the  moss  and 
the  grass  of  the  wood.  Leonora  loved  flowers,  and 
loved  best  those  that  grew  wild.  It  was  one  of  the 
few  simple  tastes  she  possessed. 


400  TO   LEEWARD. 

"  It  is  not  much  of  a  nosegay,"  said  Julius,  as  he 
put  the  sweet  blossoms  together,  and  tied  them  with 
a  blade  of  grass.  "  It  is  too  late  for  the  best  wild 
flowers  here."  He  gave  her  the  little  bouquet  with 
one  hand,  and  the  other  stole  about  her  waist  and 
drew  her  to  him. 

She  smelled  the  flowers,  and  looked  up  at  him 
over  them,  a  little  sadly. 

"The  time  will  come,  I  suppose,"  said  she,  "  when 
there  will  be  no  more  flowers  at  all." 

"  Never  for  you,  darling,"  he  answered  lovingly. 
"There  will  always  be  flowers  for  you  —  every 
where,  till  the  end  of  time." 

"  What  is  the  end  of  time,  Julius?  "  she  asked 
softly. 

"  Time  has  no  end  for  us,  dear,"  he  said.  "  For 
time  is  measured  by  love,  and  nothing  can  measure 
ours." 

They  were  near  an  old  tree  whose  roots  ran  out 
and  then  struck  down  into  the  ground.  The  moss 
and  the  grass  had  grown  closely  about  the  great 
trunk's  foot,  and  made  a  broad  seat.  They  sat 
down,  by  common  accord. 

"  Can  there  be  no  end  to  our  love  —  ever  ?  "  she 
said. 

"  Should  we  be  where  we  are,  if  either  of  us 
thought  it  possible?/'  he  asked. 

"  It  must  be  whole  —  it  must  be  endless  —  in 
deed  it  must,"  she  answered  —  clinging  to  the 
thought  which  gave  her  most  comfort. 

"  Do  you  doubt  that  it  is  ?  "  asked  Julius,  the 


TO   LEE  WARD.  "  401 


strong  earnestness  of  his  passion  vibrating  in  his 
deep  tones. 

"  No,  darling,"  she  answered  ;  "  I  do  not  doubt 
it  —  only  you  must  never  let  me." 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  I  never  will !  "  said  he.  He 
meant  what  he  said.  Men  are  not  all  intentional 
deceivers,  but  they  forget.  They  are  less  faithful 
than  women,  though  they  are  often  more  earnest. 

Is  it  not  the  very  highest  power  of  love  not  to 
allow  a  doubt  ?  And  how  many  men  can  say  that 
their  lives  have  been  so  ordered  toward  the  woman 
they  love  best,  that  no  doubting  should  be  reason 
ably  possible  in  her  mind?  Few  enough,  I  sup 
pose. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  lately,  Ju 
lius,"  said  Leonora  presently. 

"Tell  me  your  thoughts,  dear  one,"  said  he, 
drawing  her  to  him,  so  that  her  head  rested  on  his 
shoulder,  and  his  lips  touched  her  hair. 

"  You  know,  dear,"  said  she,  "  what  we  have 
done  is  not  right  —  at  least  "  —  She  stopped  sud 
denly. 

"  Who  says  it  is  not  right?"  asked  Julius,  with 
a  touch  of  scorn  in  his  voice. 

"Oh,  everybody  says  so,  of  course;  but  that 
makes  no  difference.  Nobody  would  understand. 
It  is  not  what  people  say.  It  is  the  thing."  She 
stared  out  into  the  woods  as  she  leaned  against 
him. 

"  How  do  you  mean,  sweetheart  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  is  not  right,  you  know.  I  am  sure  of  it." 
26 


402  *  TO   LEEWARD. 

She  shook  her  head  gently,  without  lifting  it.  Then 
she  added,  "  It  is  all  my  fault." 

"  You  shall  not  say  that,  my  own  one,"  said 
Julius,  passionately.  He  was  really  grieved  and 
troubled  beyond  measure. 

"  Ah  —  but  I  know  it  so  well,"  said  she.  "  You 
must,  help  me  to  make  it  right  —  quite  right." 

"  It  is  right  —  it  shall  be  right  !  I  will  make  it 
so,"  he  answered.  "Only  trust  me,  darling,  and 
you  shall  be  the  happiest  woman  the  world  holds, 
as  you  are  the  best.  God  bless  you,  dear  one." 
He  kissed  her  tenderly,  but  she  tried  to  turn  away 
from  him. 

"  Oh,  no,  Julius  —  God  will  not  bless  me.  I 
have  only  you  left  now.  You  must  be  everything 
to  me.  Will  you,  dear  ?  Say  you  will !  " 

"I  do  say  it,  my  own  darling,"  he  answered  fer 
vently.  "  I  will  be  everything  to  you,  now  and  for 
ever  and  ever." 

He  was  astonished  and  puzzled  by  the  sudden 
outbreak.  She  had  never  spoken  like  this  to  him 
before,  though  he  had  expected  it  at  first,  and  had 
wondered  at  her  indifference.  But  now  it  seemed 
to  have  come  upon  her  suddenly  with  a  great  force, 
and  she  would  not  be  comforted. 

"And  I  say  it,  too,"  she  said,  passionately.  "I 
will  be  everything  to  you,  now  and  forever  and 
ever.  We  will  give  our  lives  to  each  other,  and 
make  it  right."  She  wound  her  arms  about  him, 
and  hid  her  face  against  his  coat. 

"  How  can  true  love,  like  ours,  not  be  right  ?  " 


TO  LEEWARD.  403 

said  Julius,  clasping  her  to  him.  "  God  has  put 
it  into  the  world,  dear,  and  into  our  hearts." 

Oh,  the  blasphemy  and  the  hollowness  and  the 
cruelty  of  those  words !  Even  as  Leonora  lay  in 
his  arms  and  felt  his  kisses  on  her  hair,  loving  her 
sinful  love  for  him  out  to  the  last  breath,  she  knew 
that  it  was  not  true,  what  he  said  so  fervently,  — 
and  she  knew  that  he  did  not  believe  it,  that  no 
man  can  believe  a  lie  so  great  and  wide  and  deep 
and  awful. 

But  the  sun  does  not  stand  still  in  the  heavens 
for  a  man's  lie  ;  he  hears  too  many  untrue  speeches, 
and  sees  too  many  false  faces  in  his  daily  task  of 
shining  alike  upon  the  just  and  the  unjust  —  he  is 
used  to  it  and  goes  on  his  way ;  and  time  follows 
him,  striving  to  keep  pace  and  to  swell  the  puny 
minutes  of  its  pulse  into  an  eternity. 

Such  moments  —  when  the  rising  sorrow  and 
sense  of  shame  that  a  woman  feels  are  choked 
down  and  crushed  by  the  overwhelming  energy  of 
falseness  in  the  man  she  loves  —  are  passionate, 
even  terrible  ;  and  they  may  come  often,  but  they 
never  last  long. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Julius  and  Leonora  were 
wandering  on  through  the  woods,  and  their  talk 
had  taken  again  its  ordinary  course.  The  morn 
ing  was  passing,  and  as  Batiscombe  talked  and 
amused  and  interested  Leonora,  her  doubts  and 
fears  disappeared,  for  the  time  at  least,  and  her  old 
sense  of  enjoyment  returned  again,  sweeter  to  her 
now  than  ever  before,  in  proportion  as  it  was  more 


404  TO   LEEWARD. 

difficult  for  her  to  attain  it.  She  was  happy  again, 
and  the  clouds  were  riven  away  and  rent  to  shreds 
by  the  strong  breath  of  her  stirring  passion. 

They  walked  for  a  while,  and  then  returned  to 
their  midday  breakfast  and  spent  an  hour  over  it 
in  the  cool,  darkened  hall,  which  had  once  been 
the  refectory  of  the  monastery,  and  was  now  the 
dining-room  of  the  people  who  came  to  the  water- 
cure.  Julius  had  suggested  to  Leonora  that  they 
should  have  their  breakfast  and  dinner  in  their 
own  rooms,  but  she  said  she  liked  to  see  the  peo 
ple.  It  amused  her  to  watch  their  faces  and  to 
wonder  about  them  and  criticise  them.  They  were 
so  unlike  the  people  she  had  known  hitherto,  that 
there  was  a  freshness  of  amusement  to  her  in  learn 
ing  their  ways. 

And  by  and  by  they  had  their  coffee  in  a  little 
sitting-room  of  their  own  that  overlooked  the  tor 
rent,  and  Julius  smoked  a  cigarette  and  read  the 
papers  a  little,  amusing  her  with  his  daring  com 
ments  on  the  conduct  of  nations  and  individuals. 
He  was  a  man  who  was  never  afraid  to  say  what 
he  meant  —  not  only  to  Leonora,  over  a  cup  of  cof 
fee  in  the  summer,  but  to  the  world  at  large,  in  his 
books  and  articles.  That  was  one  reason  why  the 
world  at  large  always  said  he  was  an  uncommonly 
fine  fellow,  with  a  great  deal  of  pluck  and  judg 
ment.  For  the  world  at  large  likes  rough  strength 
and  keen  wit,  always  understanding  that  the  strong 
language  is  not  applied  to  itself,  but  to  its  neighbor 
next  door. 


TO  LEEWARD.  405 

At  four  o'clock  Julius  and  Leonora  went  out 
again.  Julius  carried  a  pair  of  shawls  and  a  book 
and  Leonora's  silk  bag  with  the  silver  rings  —  the 
same  she  had  used  to  bring  her  handkerchiefs  when 
she  fled  from  Sorrento.  They  went  into  the  gar 
den  and  out  among  the  laurels  and  the  geraniums 
for  a  few  minutes,  but  Julius  was  sure  there  would 
be  more  breeze  outside,  in  the  old  summer-house 
over  the  water ;  for  the  garden  was  sheltered  by 
high  walls  all  around,  and  the  sun  was  still  hot, 
almost  at  its  hottest  at  four  o'clock  on  the  fourth 
of  September. 

Accordingly  Julius  took  the  things  in  his  hands, 
and  the  two  went  out  of  the  garden  by  the  door  in 
the  wall  and  left  it  open.  They  walked  down  the 
short  open  path  to  the  old  summer-house,  and  Ju 
lius  made  Leonora  very  comfortable  with  the  shawls 
for  cushions  upon  the  old,  wooden  bench,  which 
many  generations  of  people  had  hacked  with  their 
knives  and  adorned  with  the  insignificance  of  their 
unknown  names. 

Side  by  side  they  sat  in  the  glory  of  the  sum 
mer's  afternoon,  and  the  birds  perched  on  the  gray 
old  ribs  of  the  summer-house  and  hopped  upon  the 
uiitrimmed  creepers  that  grew  thickly  about  it, 
making  their  small  comments  to  each  other  about 
the  two  people  who  sat  below  them,  and  great 
green  and  pink  grasshoppers  skipped  into  the  open 
space  and  out  again,  a  perpetual  astonishment  in 
their  round,  red  eyes  ;  all  nature  was  warm  and 
peaceful  and  happy.  The  lovers  talked  together 


406  TO  LEEWARD. 

a  little,  enjoying  the  sense  that  speech  was  not  al 
ways  necessary  or  even  desirable. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  '  Principe '  ? "  Julius 
asked  at  last,  glancing  at  the  book  that  lay  open 
on  Leonora's  knee.  He  had  given  it  to  her  to 
read,  because  she  said  she  knew  so  little  of  Italian 
thought. 

"  I  hardly  know,"  she  said.  "  It  is  very  won 
derful,  of  course.  But  I  cannot  quite  believe  that 
Macchiavelli  believed  in  it  himself,  or  that  any 
one  ever  acted  on  the  advice  he  gives.  It  is  too 
complicated  and  unhuman." 

"  It  always  seems  to  me,"  said  Julius,  taking  up 
the  question,  "  that  he  wrote  like  a  .  man  who  in 
ferred  a  great  deal  from  his  own  experience  —  a 
great  deal  more  than  it  is  safe  to  infer.  He  knew 
men  and  women  very  well.  He  might  have  been 
a  despotic  lover." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Leonora. 

"  Do  you  notice  that  he  always  reckons,  every 
where  and  without  exception,  on  the  heart  of  the 
people  and  on  their  personal  affection  for  their 
sovereign  ?  But  he  never  takes  into  consideration 
the  possible  affection  of  the  sovereign  for  his  sub 
jects." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Leonora.  "  He  was  a  very 
heartless  individual." 

"  Perhaps  —  though  I  hardly  think  it,"  answered 
Julius.  "  But  he  might  have  written  a  guide  for 
despotic  lovers  much  better  than  a  book  of  instruc 
tion  for  tyrannical  princes." 


TO  LEEWARD.  407 

"  What  an  idea!  "  said  Leonora,  laughing.  "  But 
I  think  he  was  heartless  all  the  same.  He  only 
believed  in  the  people's  hearts  as  a  means  for  get 
ting  power." 

"He  never  says  so,"  said  Julius.  "I  rather 
think  he  loved  the  people,  but  knew  them  well  — 
and  he  loved  the  ingenuities  of  his  wit  much  bet 
ter." 

"  If  the  heart  does  not  come  first,  it  never  comes 
at  all,"  said  Leonora  thoughtfully.  "  If  it  does  not 
rule  it  is  ruled,  and  might  as  well  never  exist  at 
all.  Are  you  tyrannical,  dear  ? "  She  smiled  at 
him,  knowing  how  he  loved  her. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  said  Julius,  laughing  ;  "  but 
only  about  love." 

"  But  that  is  just  the  question,"  said  Leonora. 
"  You  ought  not  to  be.  Your  heart  ought  to  come 
first." 

"  Yes,  darling,"  he  answered.  "  The  heart 
comes  first,  and  the  heart  is  a  tyrant.  Supposing 
my  heart  says  to  yours,  '  You  shall  love  me  ;  I  will 
have  it  at  any  cost ; '  is  not  that  tyranny  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Leonora,  smiling  and  touching 
his  hand.  "  But  then  it  is  quite  a  mutual  tyranny, 
you  know,  because  I  say  it  to  you,  too,  —  and  you 
do  it." 

"  I  always  do  everything  you  say,  darling,"  he 
answered  lovingly. 

"  Always  ?  " 

"  Always ;  —  and  I  always  will,  Leonora." 

"  Do  you  think,  Julius  —  it  is  a  foolish  question 


'408  TO  LEEWARD.    . 

—  do  you  think  you  would  die  for  me,  if  it  were 
necessary?  " 

"  You  know  I  would,  dear,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  Yes ;  I  am  sure  you  would,"  she  answered. 
"  Do  you  know  ?  I  used  to  think  that  one  ought 
to  be  willing  to  die  for  those  one  loves  ;  and  I  like 
to  think  that  you  would  give  your  life  for  me.  Of 
course  it  could  never  happen  —  but  then  —  Don't 
laugh  at  me,  Julius." 

"  Why  should  I  laugh?  "  he  said.  "  What  you 
say  is  serious  enough,  I  am  sure." 

"  No  —  but  I  thought  you  might.  You  laugh  at 
so  many  things  —  I  am  always  afraid  you  will 
laugh  at  my  love  "  — 

It  was  five  o'clock. 

Marcantonio,  issuing  from  the  door  in  the  gar 
den  wall,  saw  Julius  and  Leonora  some  twenty 
yards  away,  in  the  summer-house.  He  gave  the 
servant  a  franc  for  showing  him  the  way,  and  the 
man  retired.  He  stood  alone,  watching  the  pair, 
for  he  could  see  them  very  distinctly.  They  were 
so  placed  that  they  would  see  him  if  they  .turned 
and  looked  upward,  but  they  did  not  move,  nor 
hear  him.  Leonora  was  nearest  to  him,  and  was 
leaning  back  a  little,  so  that  she  could  not  see  him ; 
Batiscombe  held  her  hand,  and  was  looking  at  it, 
and  gently  caressing  the  fair,  white  fingers  as  he 
talked. 

Marcantonio  turned  away  for  a  moment,  and  got 
out  his  revolver.  It  was  clean  and  bright,  and  he 
had  examined  it,  —  but  he  would  look  once  more, 


TO  LEEWARD.  409 

just  to  be  sure  there  was  a  cartridge  in  each  cham 
ber,  especially  in  that  one  beneath  the  barrels.  One 
could  not  be  too  certain  of  one's  weapon.  There 
was  no  mistake,  —  everything  was  in  order.  The 
hour  was  come. 

The  hideous  maniac  smile  played  over  his  deli 
cate  features,  and  he  stepped  cautiously  forward, 
holding  the  pistol  behind  him.  Every  step  he 
gained  before  they  observed  him  was  an  advan 
tage.  And  besides,  Leonora  was  between  him 
and  Batiscombe.  It  was  not  a  fair  shot,  and  it 
was  too  far. 

He  did  not  want  to  kill  her  ;  he  would  take  her 
home  with  him,  when  he  had  killed  Julius  Bat 
iscombe.  He  had  ordered  the  little  carriage  to 
wait  for  them.  How  happy  she  would  be  !  Cau 
tiously  he  moved  on,  ready  for  action  if  they  saw 
him.  He  trod  so  softly,  so  softly,  it  was  like  vel 
vet  on  the  grass. 

Then,  as  he  came  nearer,  —  not  ten  paces  off,  — 
he  brought  his  pistol  before  him  and  held  it  ready. 
So  softly  he  had  crept  to  them  that  they  had  not 
yet  heard  him,  as  the  summer  wind  blew  gently 
through  the  long  grasses  and  the  vines  about  the 
old  bower,  and  made  a  sweet  murmur  of  its  own. 

—  "  I  am  always  afraid  you  will  laugh  at  my 
love  "  -  Leonora  was  saying,  but  the  words  that 
were  to  follow  were  never  spoken. 

Some  slight  sound  caught  her  quick  woman's  ear, 
and  she  looked  up  in  the  direction  whence  it  came. 
There  stood  her  husband,  not  ten  paces  from  her, 


410  TO  LEEWARD. 

with  an  expression  in  his  face  that  would  have 
frozen  the  marrow  in  the  bones  of  a  wild  beast. 

The  clean  polished  barrel  of  the  pistol  was 
pointed  full  at  Batiscombe.  Leonora  saw  that, 
and  saw  that  Marcantonio's  eyes  were  fixed  on  her 
lover  and  not  on  herself.  Batiscombe  saw  it  all  as 
well  as  she,  one  second  later.  But  that  one  second 
was  enough. 

With  a  spring  and  a  clutching  turn,  as  a  tigress 
will  cover  her  young  with  herself  and  turn  glaring 
on  her  pursuers,  Leonora  threw  her  strong,  lithe 
body  upon  Julius,  forcing  him  back  to  his  seat,  and 
she  turned  and  looked  Marcantonio  in  the  face. 
Their  eyes  met  for  one  moment.  But  it  was  too 
late  :  the  finger  had  pulled  the  trigger  and  the  ball 
sped  true. 

Without  a  sound,  without  a  cry,  she  fell  upon 
her  lover's  breast.  There  she  fell,  there  she  died. 

From  the  death  wound  the  heart's  blood  fell  in 
great  drops  ;  it  fell  down  to  the  ground. 

She  died  for  his  sake  whom  she  loved  ;  she  died, 
she  gave  for  him  her  life,  the  joy  and  the  woe  and 
the  love  of  it  for  his  sake. 

Do  you  ask  what  is  the  moral  of  this  ?  Ask  it 
of  yourselves. 

Ask  it  of  that  quiet  man,  with  delicate  features 
and  snow-white  hair,  who  drives  in  the  Villa 
Borghese.  He  is  well-known  in  Rome  for  his  hon 
esty,  his  honor,  and  his  unaffected  good  sense.  He 
is  the  Marchese  Carantoni,  he  is  Marcantonio,  and 
he  is  not  yet  forty  years  of  age. 


TO  LEEWARD.  411 

Ask  it  of  that  magnificent  ambassadress,  queen 
of  women  and  peer  in  all  save  royalty  of  the  sov 
ereigns  before  whom  she  represents  the  women  of 
her  husband's  country.  She  is  Diana  de  Charleroi, 
—  Duchesse  de  Charleroi  now,  for  her  husband  has 
succeeded  to  the  elder  title.  Ask  it  of  her,  the 
mother  of  brave  boys  and  noble  maidens.  She  has 
her  beauty  still,  she  is  as  stately  as  of  yore,  and 
grander  in  the  crown  of  mature  womanhood.  But 
there  is  a  streak  of  gray  even  in  her  fair  hair,  and 
a  line  of  sorrow  on  her  forehead,  the  masterly  hand 
writing  of  a  mastering  grief ;  and  her  gray  eyes  are 
softer  and  sadder  than  -they  were  ten  years  ago. 

Ask  it  of  Julius  Batiscombe,  —  but  of  him  you 
will  ask  in  vain.  He  has  the  mark  of  a  bullet  in 
his  throat,  Marcantonio's  second  shot,  that  was  so 
nearly  fatal  to  him.  He  stood  aside  from  the  world 
for  a  while,  and  lived  a  year  or  two  among  the 
monks  of  Subiaco ;  he  manifested  some  devotion 
for  her  sake  who  had  died  for  him.  And  now  he 
is  writing  novels  again,  and  smoking  cigarettes 
between  the  phrases,  to  help  his  ideas  and  to  stim 
ulate  his  imagination , 


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